No Greater Love
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Everyone awaits the birth of the Enstads' babies.  Follows 'Her Man'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _To be posted in parts, because I'm busily adding extra material from early unposted stories that were transcriptions of actual_ Fantasy Island _episodes, for upcoming chapters. I'm planning on making it a decidedly eventful summer for Christian and Leslie, and not just because of the events being related in this story… (smile!)_

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§ § § -- May 18, 2004

A preoccupied Leslie rubbed her pregnant stomach, staring at nothing, while Christian piloted their car towards home, having just picked her up at the main house after her final weekend as Roarke's assistant before her long maternity leave. She was so quiet for so long that eventually he turned to her and asked, "What's wrong, my Rose? Is being confined to home so bad?"

Leslie looked wistfully at him and sighed. "It's just going to feel so strange, not going to work with Father each weekend. I know I won't have much chance to think about it after the babies are here, but right now…well, I'll miss it. I've always loved being in on the fantasies, ever since I first came here."

Christian smiled. "Perhaps Mr. Roarke would consent to telling you about them over the phone from home, or something like that. Really, my darling, I don't know just how much time you're going to have to contemplate what you're missing out on. While you can still get around, you'll have to show Margareta and her servant the general ropes around the house, and we both will have to sit down with them and explain the parts of the baby-care routine that you and I have already worked out. You'll be occupied enough, believe me."

Leslie sighed again and said, "It's just that…oh, I don't know." She made a face. "I must be finally realizing just what we're giving up in exchange for having children."

"Well, you're a little late to regret it now," Christian teased, laughing. "Don't fret over it so. I think you'll find that the rewards of having the triplets will be more than worth whatever sacrifices we make. My brothers and sister never regretted having their children, I can tell you that. Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Mr. Roarke suggested I tell you that you're going to have a surprise visitor, but not to say who it is."

"Isn't that just like Father to tantalize me that way!" Leslie groaned. "Did he say when this visitor's supposed to get here?"

"Presumably said visitor is on the same charter that Margareta and her servant are arriving on," Christian replied. "Now look, I'll install you on our sofa, and you can read for a while, just relax and take it easy. Magga's charter will be here at noon, so I'll be at home for a few hours before I have to go and get them. Tell me if there's anything you need, all right? I don't want you constantly struggling up and down in an effort to get this or that. Ever since Dr. Hannaford said it's time for you to start taking it easier in these last few weeks, I've had a dread of you doing exactly the opposite and trying to take on even more tasks."

"You sure don't have much faith in me," Leslie complained, and he grinned. "Well, maybe it'll be nice to just rest awhile and do something quiet. I wanted to read up on that chapter about labor and giving birth anyway…"

Christian snorted in exasperation and exclaimed, "Some restful pastime that would be! You've already indicated you're nervous about labor and birth, and I daresay that chapter will only make you even more so. No, I think you'll be happier reading a romance novel or some such thing. Ach, I sometimes think it'll be less stressful after the babies are born than it is now just dealing with you."

"Holy paradise, Christian, you sure know how to encourage a person," Leslie said, giving him a tolerantly annoyed look. Christian chuckled in spite of himself, and she had to grin. "Now that you mention it, there's quite a stack of lurid bodice-rippers in the basket by the chair. I suppose I could start plowing through those."

"I saw them in there," Christian remarked. "Where did you get them?"

"They're Myeko's," Leslie said. "Lately she's been asking me how I liked this or that one, and I have to keep telling her I haven't read them yet. Maybe now I can finally answer her questions. I just hope I can get through them. When I read romance books I usually prefer the ones with modern-day settings."

"Oh?" said Christian idly, slowing for the turn into the Enclave access road. "I don't see you reading much at all, but I do know you've never picked up a book with a cover quite like those. Truly, if the paintings on those covers showed any more skin, they'd have to sell them wrapped in brown paper."

Leslie laughed. "They're probably as lurid on the inside as on the outside. Oh well, at least they'll be a source of entertainment. I never could stand all those yakety-yak talk shows where everybody tells the world their worst and most embarrassing personal problems. And the only decent morning game show on the air anymore is 'The Price is Right'. That one always reminds me of Lauren's sister-in-law Jenny." She sat up straight. "Hey! That's a name I've always liked—Jenny! If we have a girl, we could consider that one for her!"

Christian looked at her in surprise. "Really? You never said so."

"I think we've been so busy eliminating names we don't like, we haven't had a chance to talk about the ones we do," Leslie observed, making him laugh. "Maybe when Margareta and the servant get here, they could help us out. We sure aren't getting anywhere on our own, I know that much."

Christian pulled into their driveway and killed the engine. "Well, we can think about that. Come on, let's get you inside and settled down first."

At about eleven-thirty he left her reading on the sofa and went off to pick up Margareta and her servant. Left to herself in the quiet house, Leslie got more into her book than she had expected to, and when the door opened, she was giggling at a sex scene that had been written in especially purple prose. Christian came in first and stopped long enough to raise an eyebrow at her. "Something funny, my Rose?"

"Yeah, the writing in this thing," she said cheerfully, sticking a bookmark in the tome and dropping it on the coffee table. "Where's Margareta?"

"Right here," said the twenty-seven-year-old princess, stepping around Christian and grinning at her aunt. "Hello, Aunt Leslie, it's good to see you again—and the new addition looks lovely! I can't wait to see the rooms Uncle Christian was telling me I'll be in." She glanced behind her, out the door, and called out something in _jordiska_. "Sorry, Aunt Leslie, it's my servant. She's bringing in my bags."

"That's okay," said Leslie. "You know, we really appreciate this, your coming out here for the entire summer just to help us out. Father's given us a year's subscription with a diaper service, so that'll be a help, but having you and the servant around will be a real bonus too. What's her name?"

Christian pulled the door a little farther open for a young woman with pale blonde hair drawn back in a bun, clad in what looked like nothing so much as medical scrubs and wearing no makeup. Her head was down, but when Margareta spoke to her in _jordiska_ again, she straightened up and managed a curtsy at Leslie despite lugging three suitcases. Leslie looked at Christian, who half-smiled and slipped back out the door again for some reason; she frowned slightly and looked at Margareta. "Why the curtsy?"

"Protocol, Aunt Leslie. Even if you and Uncle Christian aren't officially royalty, you still belong to the royal family and should be shown the respect due you. Anyhow, this is Ingrid. She's worked at the castle for the last four years; she's twenty-two and she speaks only a little English. I thought bringing her here where she would be immersed in it would help her learn the language faster."

"That's not a bad idea," Leslie said. "Christian and I intend the triplets to learn _jordiska_ and English simultaneously as they're growing up. Uh…_hallå då_, Ingrid," she added, using the informal _jordisk_ greeting she'd often heard Christian employ with his family. Margareta stared at her in surprise.

"I didn't know you spoke any _jordiska_," she said.

"I don't, really," Leslie admitted. "I've told Christian I want to learn, but he never seems to get around to teaching me any. What few words I know, I've picked up from hearing him use on the phone." She glanced at the door. "Where'd Christian go?"

"Someone else came in on the plane with us," Margareta explained with a grin, "and he's gone out to help her. Where should Ingrid take the bags?"

"See that doorway just past the stairs?" Leslie said, gesturing in that direction. "Tell her to go through there, and the suite you and she are sharing will be on her right." While Margareta was relaying this to Ingrid in _jordiska_, the door opened again and Christian came back in—with none other than Arcolos' Queen Michiko right behind him. "Michiko!! I can't believe you're really here!" Leslie shrieked, overjoyed.

"Hi, Leslie!" Michiko exclaimed, and she rushed to the sofa to give Leslie a hug. "It's been so long since we saw each other, it just sickens me. I told Errico in no uncertain terms that I was bringing Catalina here to the island so she can get to know my parents and I could be here when your triplets are born. I guess he knew better than to argue with me; he didn't put up any fuss at all. Smart man."

Leslie laughed as Michiko sat on the sofa just beyond her feet. "I'll say. So where are you staying while you're here, and how long do you plan to hang around?"

"I'm at my parents' house," Michiko said, "and I'll be here until July—I understand Maureen's baby is due then, and I'd like to see what she gets. Christian told me on the way home that your doctor's confined you to the house till you give birth, and made you stop working. What's Mr. Roarke going to do for an assistant?"

"Very little, I think," Leslie said. "Summer's the so-called slow season here, so things should be a little less hectic for him then. Julie'll help whenever she can, but she's a busy beaver herself. Father scheduled easy and mundane stuff throughout the summer so that he can get by without an assistant as much as possible till I can come back to work."

Michiko nodded. "I see. And how about you, Christian?"

"I'm taking the summer off myself," he said. "With triplets in the house, it'll take both of us to care for them, even with the help of Margareta and her servant. It's been busy for me as well, but I recently hired another computer specialist, and I've been working extra hours in the hope of at least catching up before I find myself confined to infant care. And in any case, since they're my children too, it will be a good opportunity for me to create a strong bond with them."

"Terrific," Michiko said, nodding. "Your babies are going to be very lucky." She saw Margareta come back from the addition. "What does your hotel room look like?"

Margareta laughed. "It's sparsely furnished, but that's fine—I like it," she said. "I've brought my laptop from home so that I can keep up with my charity causes while I'm here helping Uncle Christian and Aunt Leslie. By the way—Ingrid is astonished that she'll have that futon to sleep on. In the castle she has just a small twin bed frame with one mattress, not even a box spring. For her it'll be luxury."

Christian frowned. "It shouldn't be so difficult to improve the servants' furniture a little, should it?" he asked. "What has Briella been doing with the castle treasury?"

Margareta made a face and sat down, while Christian took the nearest chair to Leslie. "As a matter of fact, she's just put Aunt Amalia in charge of it. With her accounting background, she can find out what's going on and put things to rights. The last treasurer seems to have been drawing bonus pay for himself without bothering to account for it, if you know what I mean. Truly, has no one any respect for royalty anymore?"

Michiko grinned. "I think Gabriella may have to learn to be more aggressive," she said lightly. "No one in Errico's employ would dare be that bold." They all laughed, and the conversation drifted to assorted other topics.

After a car had come around to get Michiko, Christian glanced at his watch and got to his feet. "All right," he said, "I suppose it's best that we give you and Ingrid an overview of the way things are usually run in this house. Naturally, that will change once the triplets are here, but for now you'll have a chance to settle in and help us finish preparing for the babies. Where's that girl hiding, anyhow?"

"I told her to put my things away," Margareta said, shrugging. "Really, Uncle Christian, she's just a provincial girl. She can barely speak English, and considering where she comes from, it's incredible that she knows any at all."

Christian eyed her. "Don't let that royal superiority carry you away," he warned, not without a smile. "We may have quite a few little backwater villages in Lilla Jordsö, but it's no excuse to be patronizing. Which such village is Ingrid from?"

"Mossedal," Margareta said. "Not too far from Träskebotten, as I understand it, in the south-central part of the country where there's so much swampy land. Uncle Christian, I'm not saying she's stupid. But she's not very educated. Most of the servants we have now are the ones Pappa hired during his reign, and you know he liked to hire them from low-income areas like Mossedal and Träskebotten, and Grandmamma's hometown of Sjöstrand. When I put out the word that I wanted a servant to come here with me, only three came forward! Ingrid seemed the least frightened of leaving the country, so I made sure her passport application was expedited and brought her along. She's quiet and a hard worker, and she's not difficult to have around. It's just that she's easily intimidated by those of a higher rank, and unfortunately, either you or I will have to play translator between her and Aunt Leslie. And she'll never stop curtsying or addressing us—all of us, Aunt Leslie, including you—as 'Your Highness'. We're all royalty to her, title or none."

Christian lifted his hands. "All right, Magga, all right. I just don't want to make her feel as if she'll suffer some colossal manifestation of royal wrath if she makes a misstep. If we have to put up with being addressed as Our Highnesses, then it's a small price to pay for the extra help. I know you've both had a series of long flights, so why don't you go ahead and have a rest for the afternoon? We can get you and Ingrid oriented tomorrow. Leslie needs to rest a bit herself."

Margareta nodded and got up. "Did your doctor give a date when she thinks the babies will be born?"

"Yes, she figures around June first," Leslie said, shifting on the sofa to make herself a little more comfortable. "Till then, it's lie around and vegetate." Margareta laughed, then left the room for the guest suite. Christian watched her go before arising and settling onto the sofa beside his wife.

"Well," he murmured, "either Ingrid will learn English, or you'll find yourself absorbing enough _jordiska_ to communicate with her, my darling." They grinned at each other, and he leaned over and caught her lips in a lingering kiss. When he pulled back, he regarded her with love and concern. "You're feeling all right?"

Leslie nodded. "I'm fine, my love. The triplets are quiet right now, so I've got a little break of sorts. You'll be here the rest of the day, won't you?"

"Of course," Christian said, "unless you or Magga needs anything. I expect it'll be a quiet day, though. Why do you ask?"

Leslie grinned at him and said, "Because I'm going to enjoy the heck out of being with you all day, as much as I can. No computer for you today, my darling, you get to sit here and keep me company."

"Oh?" said Christian and grinned. "I hope you're not expecting me to take up one of those half-naked romance books of yours."

Leslie snickered and teased him, "Just for that, I'm going to read aloud all those wild sex passages to you and watch you turn bright red." They both laughed and hugged each other; then she tilted her head at him. "Margareta said your mother came from one of those so-called 'provincial' towns, didn't she?"

Christian nodded and relaxed a bit, bracing himself with one arm against the back of the sofa so he could stay near her. "Mother was born a commoner and raised in a place called Sjöstrand, in eastern Lilla Jordsö," he explained. "It's a fishing town of about four thousand, a little north of center on the coast. Mother's maiden name was Helgesson, but I know almost nothing about her family—only what very little she once revealed to me, about the time my father announced that I was to be married off to Johanna. I don't even know the names of my maternal grandparents; in any case, they died long before I was born—before Arnulf was born, for that matter. As it happened, Mother also had a younger brother named Christian, who contracted polio as a toddler and died of it at only fifteen months old. I was named after him." By now he was gazing thoughtfully into the distance. "I always wanted to take a little trip to Sjöstrand, try to find the house…well, perhaps it should be the 'hut'…that Mother grew up in, try to get a sense of the scenes of her early life. I always knew Mother as a queen; of course, she was only a princess when I was born, but I was young enough when Father took the throne that I really don't have any worthwhile memories of those days. She was well suited to the role, and I remember being quite shocked to learn she had been born into a very poor family in a struggling village."

Leslie, watching him, found her heart melting; when he reminisced, there was an odd sense of wistful vulnerability about him that made her want to hug him and protect him from all those old ghosts of his past. "Did your mother speak English? I mean, in light of what you've told me…when she met your father and he wanted her as his wife, she must have gone through one killer of a crash course in how to be royal."

Christian chuckled. "She never talked about it, but I suspect you're right. Mother did speak English, yes, although with a substantial accent and not much confidence in her ability. But if she had been able to meet you, my Rose, I have no doubt that she would have gladly given her English some exercise, just to find out more about the girl her son fell so crazy in love with. She spoke privately with me a few days before she died, and I remember telling her I wished desperately that, should I ever find the right woman, she could meet her. And to this day I still wish you and she could have known each other." He smiled and left a feathery kiss on her lips. "Not only that, I wish I could have known your mother. From the tape she left us, I gathered that she loved you and your sisters very much—but that she was especially concerned for you, knowing that you alone would survive that fire."

"You really gleaned all that from what you heard on that tape?" Leslie asked, impressed. "I think you're right, and I'm sure Father would agree. I know she would have thought the world of you. I just hope both your mother and mine have some way of knowing what's happening here, that soon their grandchildren will be here."

Christian glanced at the ceiling and out the glass doors to the backyard, and grinned. "Don't forget, my Leslie Rose, this is Fantasy Island. If there's any place on earth where our mothers might have some chance of knowing all this, then this is it." She grinned back, and they nestled against each other, heads touching, taking a little comfort in each other.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- May 25, 2004

Margareta, having sized up the situation in the Enstad household within a couple of days, decided in her usual straightforward and decisive way that it would be necessary for her to learn how to drive, and had dragooned Christian into teaching her. He was very surprised at the progress she made, and remarked to Leslie one evening that she obviously had just enough of Arnulf's deadly-practical nature in her to make the trait an asset. In this youngest of the late king's three daughters, that practicality had resulted in a strong dose of common sense and levelheadedness. Roarke, understanding the special needs that Leslie and Christian were facing, agreed to provide a statement so that Margareta could get a temporary island driver's license that would be valid until she returned to Lilla Jordsö.

Ingrid turned out to be an extremely efficient housekeeper, with what to Leslie was a faintly spooky knack for knowing what needed to be done even without being able to communicate with her. The girl rarely spoke, and Leslie still didn't know her last name; she had been surprised to find that the royal family almost never bothered to learn more than a servant's first name. Even Christian didn't seem concerned about it, and she had finally asked him, visibly amazing him. "You're actually wondering about that?" he'd asked.

"Are you saying you don't know and it doesn't matter?" she'd blurted, stunned.

Christian had grinned, looking only slightly sheepish. "My Rose," he had said gently, "it's not the way of royalty and serving staff to be on a friendly basis with one another. We don't socialize and we don't develop relationships; it just isn't done. I know you find that difficult to understand, since you didn't grow up under a monarchy, but that's just the way it is." Then he'd raised a teasing eyebrow and added, "But if you feel like extending the hand of friendship, you can certainly try—if you can make yourself understood."

"Christian Enstad…" she'd muttered, and he'd chuckled and kissed her, telling her not to worry about it. But she had reflected that this attitude in her husband just served as a reminder that, no matter the loss of title, he was still very much a prince.

Today, a week after Margareta and Ingrid had arrived on the island, Leslie had just gotten home from her latest checkup with Dr. Hannaford, who had noted some unusual swelling in Leslie's ankles and told her it would be best for her to stay off her feet as much as she could, but that she was fine otherwise. Leslie's appetite had fallen off sharply since her birthday; she wasn't losing weight, but she had managed to keep from gaining any more, and Mariki had begun some of her accustomed griping before Leslie had gone on leave. Christian and Margareta had grown accustomed to her habit of nibbling at something whenever she felt hungry; she would sit at the dinner table with them, but she seldom ate much beyond a salad and a few raw vegetables. Ingrid, who was also a decent cook, had learned to put out a small tray of them for her at meals; the servant herself ate after the Enstads did, always sitting alone in the kitchen and then cleaning up when she was done.

She was in there now, putting together a much larger tray of veggies and another of fruit, since Leslie had friends over. Michiko was there with Catalina, now two and a half and an adorable child with bright eyes and a headful of soft black ringlets. Camille, Lauren, Myeko and Maureen had also come over, the former three bringing children as well. Robin, Camille's daughter, was a year old now; Kevin was two months and thriving; and Dawn Okada was almost three, so that she and little Princess Catalina had become playmates and were keeping each other occupied on the living-room floor. Margareta was planning to join the group; Ingrid would watch the children while the women chatted, and Christian was upstairs checking over websites and looking for any e-mail that needed answering.

Leslie's friends had caught her thumbing through one of the baby-name books that she and Christian had bought, and they were teasing her now. "At this rate you might just as well name them Tom, Dick and Harry," Myeko noted.

"Oh, that'll sound wonderful if we have all girls," Leslie shot back, eliciting laughter. Ingrid came out with the vegetable and fruit trays, and she smiled. _"Tack,_ Ingrid." The girl curtsied quickly and retreated to watch Dawn and Catalina, and Camille stared after her.

"Who the heck's that?" she asked.

"A servant Christian's niece brought with her," Leslie said. "She's an incredibly hard worker, and she's going to be a huge help around here. She doesn't speak English, though, so I'm trying to learn a few words of _jordiska_, just in case neither Christian nor Margareta is around to translate for me if I need her for something. Anyway…this naming business is starting to drive us both nuts. All we know is what we don't want." That got her some more laughter, and at Michiko's prompting she explained the sorts of names she and Christian had firmly nixed.

"No juniors," Michiko mused, nodding. "I think that's wise, but it shouldn't rule out your naming girls after your mothers."

"We thought of that," Leslie told her. "I thought if the twins are girls—"

"Hold it, Leslie, your mind must be shorting out in the last few weeks," Maureen said teasingly. "You're having triplets, not twins."

"I know," Leslie said and laughed again, "but you know that of course we thought we were having twins for a couple months before the third baby came out of hiding. And when Dr. Hannaford saw the first two, she said it looked as if they're going to be identical because they share a placenta, though they can't determine that absolutely till after the babies are born." Her friends nodded understanding. "On the next visit after she found number three, she double-checked and said that that one seems to have evolved completely separately from the first two. So it looks as if we have a pair of identical twins and a singleton that developed from a second egg. Since then, Christian and I refer to the identical ones as 'the twins', to distinguish from the third baby. Obviously if the twins _are_ identical, they'll be either both boys or both girls. So as I was saying, if the twins are girls, we thought briefly of naming them after our mothers—Shannon and Susanna."

"That'd be cute," Lauren agreed. "Sounds like you nixed that too, though."

"Well, not really, but it wasn't quite my first choice. I loved my mother, but her name isn't one of my favorites," Leslie confessed. "So we figured we might as well do something totally original. Trouble is, we haven't _thought_ of anything totally original."

"You could do what Brian and I did," Lauren offered. "We each wrote down our ten favorite boys' names and our ten favorite girls' names, on separate lists, and then compared notes. Anything we both liked went on a master list. Then when Kevin was born, we threw out all the female names, made up little slips of paper with the male names on them, dumped them into a hat and picked at random."

"That might work if Christian and Leslie were having only one baby," Michiko said, "but I don't know about three."

"Why not?" Lauren wanted to know. "If you have enough favorite names you really wanted to use, you'd get a better chance of actually being able to use them, with more babies that needed names. You can't imagine how much I was secretly hoping we'd have a girl so I could name her Amelia. I always loved that name."

"You had a doll named Amelia all the way through elementary school," Camille recalled with a laugh. "I got to where I hated that name. I even had a nightmare once that a monster named Amelia was chasing me, trying to eat me."

On the laughter that brought on, Margareta came out of the bedroom wing and joined them, greeting them all. She glanced over at Ingrid, who was now sitting on the floor alongside Dawn and Catalina, playing with them, and giggled. "You see there, Aunt Leslie? That's the primary reason I chose Ingrid, from the three servants who volunteered to come here with me. Ingrid simply loves children. I expect one day, when she's had enough of catering to royal whims, she'll return to Mossedal and marry a nice boy and have eight children."

Leslie giggled. "More power to her, then. Where's Christian?"

"I suppose he's still playing with his computer. I mean…thanks to Uncle Christian, the castle is modernized with computer access and a lot of the latest gadgets, but I think he's as much in love with computers as he is with you!" She rolled her eyes to the laughter, and there was a little more good-natured teasing before Christian ventured downstairs and threw his hands over his face in mock defeat.

"Ach, _herregud!_ I'm outnumbered by women! Where's my wife in that mob?" he exclaimed melodramatically, and pretended to sag with relief when Leslie merrily waved at him. "Oh, good, a familiar face. What's going on in here?"

"Hi, Christian," Leslie's friends chorused, and Michiko added, "We're just talking, mostly about names. We're having some trouble believing you and Leslie haven't settled on anything yet. You're running out of time, you know."

"Believe me, we're very well aware of it," Christian assured her dryly, coming to perch on the edge of the sofa next to where Leslie sat with her swollen ankles propped on two pillows. "I don't suppose you have any ideas."

"Lauren was just saying we could do what she and Brian did for Kevin," Leslie said and proceeded to explain the Knights' method of naming their son. Christian listened in silence, his face going thoughtful.

"Hmm," he mused, clearly thinking it over. "Well, I imagine if we get really desperate, we can resort to that. Of course, my Rose, you realize we'll have to make lists first—and that means we still have to make choices." Leslie stuck out her tongue at him and they all laughed again. Chuckling, he dropped a kiss on her lips. "We'll figure something out when the time comes, I'm sure. Listen, suppose you ladies enjoy yourselves—I'm going into the office for a few hours. If you go into labor, Leslie, for fate's sake make certain someone calls me immediately."

"Don't worry, my love, you'll be the first to know," Leslie promised, smoothing his dark hair. "I'll see you later. When do you think you'll be back?"

"In time for supper, never fear," he said and smiled at her before rising. "Have fun, everyone." He went to the entry and stepped into his shoes.

"Uncle Christian, I thought you were going to stop working," Margareta protested.

"I am," he said, "once the triplets get here. Since as I'm sure you can see, they aren't here yet, then there's no reason for me not to go in for a while." Christian grinned and tossed everyone a playful salute; Margareta snorted, but Leslie's friends laughed. "See you this evening, my darling," he added to Leslie, then departed.

"He's still such a romantic," Myeko said. "Lucky you, Leslie."

Leslie looked curiously at her. "Isn't Nick still romantic with you?"

"Well, yeah…but I guess we just have too much on our plates, with three kids and all the sick critters Nick's always treating, and me with the job at the paper. And besides, Nick isn't into pet names." She sighed a little. "Oh well. I love the guy anyway…pet names don't mean all that much, do they?"

"Only if you want them to," Maureen said and grinned. "Grady doesn't like pet names either, but I'm not the sort of person a guy would bestow a pet name on anyway. The way he says my name is more than enough for me."

"Hmm," Michiko said mischievously. "So that's where Errico gets it—he's making up for Nick and Grady's lack. He calls me every pet name I've ever heard of and a few that are unique to him. Some of them are so silly they make me laugh at the worst possible moments, but he always laughs with me. I have to tell you, Leslie, I'm glad you weren't ready for a new relationship when he came to the island and I met him. Errico and I fit each other so well, and not only that, you and Christian are a perfect match too."

"Things always seem to work out as they should," Maureen agreed. "I wonder how much of that is Mr. Roarke's influence."

"We'll never know," Leslie reflected with a grin. "And don't ask me, because that 'we' includes me. There's still a lot I don't know about Father, so I just put all my trust in him to make everything the way it should be, as far as it's in his power to do that."

"Well, then, let's hope he has the power to make sure you give birth as smoothly and painlessly as possible," said Camille, "and that you and those triplets'll come out of the whole thing with flying colors and in perfect health."

"Amen to that," said Myeko, and playfully the women raised carrot sticks or pineapple chunks at each other in a mock toast before laughing and taking bites.

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

"_Mom? Did you see what the baby did? Isn't she just precious?"_

"_She's beautiful, Leslie. Don't forget the other two, now. Tell me something, though. When are you and Christian finally going to name those little ones? Susanna and I have been wondering about that for weeks now."_

"_Oh gosh…we still just can't figure out what we like! Do you think it really matters so much? What if we never do?"_

"_For heaven's sake, Leslie Susan, what a crazy question! And you know, of course, that Susanna and I are expecting to see that beautiful little girl named after us."_

"_Mom, ow! Don't pinch me back there, please…"_

Leslie blinked awake and then winced as she recognized the dream pain for what it really was: a backache that had intensified somewhat from the previous day when it had plagued her off and on. It seemed to slowly spread around to her front until it felt as if she were having the cramps that often came with her period, and she instinctively drew up her knees, trying to curl up to ease the pain. Of course, the bulge with the triplets allowed her to do this only so far, and she closed her eyes and moaned softly.

Behind her she heard Christian groan as if in response, and then his sleepy voice drifted to her. "My Rose, are you all right?"

"Just a backache," Leslie said, biting her lip and then relaxing as the ache subsided to something more bearable. "Although it kind of slid around front this time too." She frowned a little as another realization hit her. "My stomach feels hot, too."

"Hmm," Christian murmured drowsily. She felt the mattress move and then the welcome warmth of his body curling around hers. His hand slipped over her waist and rested lightly over her abdomen. "You feel wonderful…" he mumbled.

He sounded ready to drift back into slumber, but Leslie was irrevocably awake now, and it occurred to her to wonder if labor might finally be starting. Dr. Hannaford had told her that it wouldn't be a sudden onset of painful contractions as in the movies; it would be a gradual thing, and it might take her some time to recognize it for what it was. The idea that this could be the first sign made her a little nervous and a little excited, and she reached up and covered Christian's hand with hers. He made a nearly inaudible humming sound and relaxed against her. "Christian," she said softly, pleadingly.

"Mm?" came the response, sleepy, brief and very low.

"Christian, my love, what time is it?" Leslie persisted gently.

She felt him still against her, then shift as he lifted his head and twisted away from her long enough to check the clock. "Four twenty-six," he reported, yawning. "Are you all right, my Rose? Is something wrong?"

To her relief, he sounded more awake now. "I'm just thinking this might be the very start of labor," she said. "I mean, I know it could be something else, but I've heard a lot of women notice a backache first thing when labor starts."

"Oh," said Christian, as if contemplating this. "Then what should we do?"

"Wait it out," she told him through a quiet sigh. "Dr. Hannaford said to just do as I always do, till I know for sure I'm in labor and the contractions are no less than five minutes apart. Then we call her and get down to the hospital."

"All right," he said and yawned again. "Then perhaps you won't mind if I go back to sleep." The mattress shifted and jiggled again as he settled down.

"Christian," Leslie protested nervously.

"My darling, you won't do either of us any good so early in the game," Christian said, patting her shoulder. "If this is really it, then it's going to be a very long day for both of us. Try to sleep now while the discomfort is still only mild."

"I can't," Leslie complained helplessly. "You know…that backache woke me up out of a very interesting dream. I was talking to my mother, one of the babies was doing something cute, and she wanted to know if we were ever going to name them. And then she said very clearly that, quote, 'Susanna and I', unquote, expected us to name the girl after them."

Behind her Christian started to laugh. "Oh really! If that's a message of any sort, then I guess we can rest assured that our mothers are very much in contact with each other…if a little imperial there! Well, Leslie, if you must get up and do something, then go ahead, but please let me sleep. After all, if I'm to help get you through all this, I'd better be rested enough to face the challenge."

She made a face and acquiesced, struggling out of bed and taking a moment to stretch her arm and leg muscles. Christian chuckled, and she looked around to see him watching her. "Don't worry," he reassured her, "I'm here. If it gets worse quickly, then wake me up. Otherwise I'm sure I'll be up and around myself within a couple of hours. But for fate's sake, relax. It's barely started."

"Okay, okay," Leslie said, lifting her hands. "You're the boss, boss. Or should that be 'you're the coach, coach'? They did refer to you that way in the birthing classes."

"Yes, they did," said Christian cheerfully and yawned again. "Well, whatever you plan to do, my Rose, enjoy yourself. I'll be awake and down for breakfast by seven, I expect, so give both of us a break while we still have the chance, and take it easy."

Christian was true to his word; a little past seven he woke for the day, climbed out of bed and found Leslie playing a game online. She glanced at him as he came into the library, and he paused to study the monitor screen, grinning. "That's the spirit. Good for you. Are you hungry, my Rose? Do you want anything to eat?"

"No…but I'd really like some grape juice," Leslie said, without pausing in her playing. "That would hit the spot right now."

Christian laughed. "Well enough, I'll send Ingrid up with it. I'm going to shower and dress first." He dropped a kiss atop her head and left the room, and a few minutes later Leslie heard the shower start running. She finished her game, got off the computer and went in to dress as well, stopping in the middle of the room when a real, honest-to-goodness, unmistakable contraction gripped her. She wrapped her hands around her middle and shut her eyes, waiting it out, clenching her jaw and wondering dismally how she was going to get through the later stages if these were so uncomfortable for her.

By the time Christian came out she had recovered and gotten dressed, and had begun to straighten the bedcovers. "No, leave that for Ingrid," he told her. "You have other things to think about. Anyway, I plan to tell her to change the sheets so that they'll be fresh for when you and the triplets get home. Keep walking, though."

"If I can't make the bed, then I think I'll go downstairs," Leslie said, shrugging. He grinned, then followed her down, watching her carefully the whole way.

Ingrid was already in the kitchen, and Christian veered over to the passthrough from the living room and gave her a few orders in _jordiska_ before rejoining Leslie. A minute later Ingrid came out and handed Leslie a glass of white grape juice; Leslie thanked her and gratefully began sipping. Slowly she paced the room, taking frequent sips of juice, and Christian continued to watch. When Margareta came into the room, dressed and ready to start her day, the princess stopped and eyed Leslie curiously. "What's happening?"

"It looks as if Leslie is gradually going into labor," Christian told her. "She hasn't had an actual contraction yet—"

"Yes I did," Leslie broke in, "once while you were in the shower. So far that's it."

"Ah, I see," Christian said. "All right then. Magga, if you feel like updating the family, go ahead. Leslie, my Rose, what week of your pregnancy is this, do you remember?"

"Thirty-_fifth_—!" The last word came out of Leslie in a choked squeak as a new contraction took hold; she stopped short and squeezed her eyes shut again while Christian and Margareta stared in fascination. Even Ingrid gaped wide-eyed at Leslie through the passthrough, her lower lip caught in her teeth.

When it subsided, Leslie relaxed, blew out her breath and then noticed the others gawking at her. "Did I do something gross just now?"

Christian laughed and crossed the room to slip an arm around her. "No, not at all, my darling. We were just astonished, I suppose. I've seen Kristina, Amalia and Anna-Laura in labor, but I certainly didn't witness the full progression as I will with you. You said the thirty-fifth week? That's very good, from what I recall Dr. Hannaford saying, especially for one carrying triplets. I think we're going to have three very healthy babies. Do you need anything else?" She shook her head, and he smiled. "Good. Magga, keep an eye on the clock, if you will. It'll take a while, but when Leslie's contractions are five minutes apart, we'll be leaving for the hospital."

"Should I come?" Margareta asked.

"There's no real need," Christian said. "I'll be there coaching Leslie, of course, and I'm sure Mr. Roarke will be in the waiting room as well. If any of Leslie's friends call, let them know what's happening, and if they want to come to the hospital, they can, though I don't expect it would do them much good. Okay, come on, my Rose, keep walking." This time, to her relief, he fell in step beside her. Margareta turned to give Ingrid some orders in clipped _jordiska_, making the servant blush bright red and hurriedly go back to work.

Christian and Margareta had just finished lunch—which for Leslie had been no more than another glass of juice and a small dish of applesauce—when her contractions began to increase in frequency. Margareta promptly sent Ingrid upstairs to clean Christian and Leslie's bedroom while Christian anxiously monitored the clock. Sure enough, they were just under five minutes apart. Christian put in the calls to Dr. Hannaford and then to Roarke, and added to his niece, "Have Ingrid bring Leslie's suitcase down here—we're going to leave right now."

Margareta ran out to the living room, called up the stairs to Ingrid, then returned and gave Leslie a quick hug. "We'll be waiting for you and the babies," she promised, "and everything will be ready. You won't have to worry about anything."

Leslie managed a grin. "You're already a lifesaver," she said. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be, my love. I'm just glad you'll be there with me." Ingrid appeared with the bag, and Christian hefted it up, escorting Leslie out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

At the hospital they found Roarke waiting for them. "Hello, Christian, Leslie," he said, clapping a hand onto his son-in-law's shoulder and then taking Leslie's hands. "You're doing all right? Is there any undue discomfort?"

"Nothing that doesn't come with the territory, I don't think," she said and grinned. "I'm getting tired already, but Christian promised me I can sleep as long as I want once I've finished giving birth. Gives me something to look forward to."

Roarke laughed. "I'm relieved to see you in good spirits, child. Christian, you'd better get her checked in." He had spotted Dr. Hannaford coming into the waiting room, with a second woman at her side.

"Before you do," Dr. Hannaford said, catching up with them, "let me introduce you to my colleague and friend, Dr. Renate Giese, from Linz, Austria. Renate, this is my patient, Leslie Enstad; her husband Christian; and of course you know Mr. Roarke." Everyone shook hands; Renate Giese was a petite woman somewhere in her forties, with a ready smile, and she immediately put both Christian and Leslie at ease. Christian went to the admissions desk to handle the paperwork, and both doctors took Leslie in hand, bringing her down the hallway to a room where Dr. Hannaford told her she would be giving birth. Leslie hadn't seen this before and was utterly astonished; it looked as inviting as the bedroom she shared with Christian at home, with pale-blue walls, a pastel-floral-printed wallpaper border and a couple of paintings on the walls. Leslie paused to stare at one whose style seemed familiar, and Dr. Hannaford noticed. "Something wrong?"

"No…could I see that painting, just for a minute?" Leslie asked.

"Of course," Dr. Hannaford said, and she and Dr. Giese both watched her go to the painting and examine it. Leslie's hand went slowly to her mouth: the signature near the bottom was unmistakably that of Tattoo. She stared at it, a smile beginning to bloom on her face, wondering if Roarke knew about it.

"That's a lovely painting," Dr. Giese offered.

Leslie turned around again, her smile lingering. "More than you know," she said softly and made her way back toward the bed to survey it. Seeing Tattoo's painting on the wall gave her a sense of closeness to her honorary uncle, even though he'd been gone nearly eleven years now. Now she felt slightly calmer, and with that in mind she asked about the birthing bed, which the doctors demonstrated for her. The back of the bed lifted far enough so that Leslie could squat, partially or totally, for the birthing process, and the foot came off so that the attendants could help deliver each baby and take it off for testing and cleaning. "Once all three of them are out," said Dr. Hannaford, "the bed lowers again, the foot goes back on, the sheets get changed, and voila…you're in a regular bed. You won't even have to change rooms, and the triplets can be brought in here to stay with you as well."

"I'd thought you'd have me in a less…well, friendly setting," Leslie ventured, "since I understand I'm more at risk for triplets."

"I have confidence in Renate, and she felt it was best to put you as much at ease as possible," Dr. Hannaford said. "We moved in all the necessary equipment in case anything happens to either you or any of the babies, so that all four of you will get the best possible care. But this is a welcoming environment for you, and I think you'll do well in here."

Leslie nodded, then regarded Dr. Giese. "You seem more certain than Dr. Hannaford that I'll be able to deliver all three babies vaginally," she said.

Renate Giese smiled at her. "I've been practicing for nearly ten years, and I have many wonderful patients back in Linz," she said. "Over those years, four of them have given birth to triplets, and about twenty to twins. All four of those patients who had triplets delivered them vaginally. One was as frightened of Caesarian sections as you, Mrs. Enstad, and I pulled her through with very few complications. Her triplets are thriving. It's my policy to try to avoid surgery if at all possible, and I've been quite fortunate thus far."

"Which in my opinion makes her as near an expert as we can get," Dr. Hannaford put in. "You're in the care of the best practitioner I know. Now—" Before she could speak, Leslie had another labor pain, and in the middle of that Christian came into the room, let in by a nurse who smiled and disappeared again. He hesitated a long moment, watching her a little anxiously, till she recovered, panting a little, and smiled at him.

"You're all right, my Rose?" Christian asked.

"Fine, my love," she said with a nod or two. "Look around—isn't this a pretty room? I'm going to have the triplets in here, and I'll be here with them after they're born."

Christian studied their surroundings with interest while the doctors instructed Leslie to remove her clothing so she could be changed into a hospital gown. Leslie watched, pulling off the cotton maternity top and stretch pants she'd worn to the hospital and leaving her flat-soled sneakers on the floor against a wall; and when Christian's attention was snared by Tattoo's painting, she smiled. "Who was the artist?" he asked, gazing at it.

"It's one of Tattoo's," she said softly.

Christian turned to her in surprise, and she nodded. He grinned and queried, "Does Mr. Roarke know about that?"

"I was wondering that myself," Leslie said, grinning back. "Maybe later we can ask him, when all this is over with and he comes to see the babies. Ow…" Another labor pain took hold and made her bend forward slightly; Dr. Giese waited patiently till it was over and she had straightened up before helping her get the hospital gown on. Beneath it Leslie was necessarily naked, a state she had no trouble being in around Christian but which somewhat embarrassed her before the doctors. She knew they'd seen everything, however, and kept her trepidation to herself. _There's probably a lot worse ahead,_ she told herself, _so just shut up and take it. This is the kind of thing they're trained for._

Once she was settled in the bed and it had been raised partway, the place became Grand Central Station. Nurses with forms came in and out, and both she and Christian put their signatures on four or five sheets of paper before another one arrived to take Leslie's vital signs and check on the progress of her labor. Christian watched, wide-eyed and with an apprehensive expression for the first time; Leslie knew he was as nervous as she now, but his presence was still a great boon for her. He backed up and flattened himself against the wall, staring while the nurse hooked Leslie up to a fetal monitor. The doctors both left the room to prepare for the birth, and the nurse asked Christian and Leslie some questions about her labor thus far before leaving the two alone.

Christian shook his head sharply once and blew out his breath. "This is strange," he muttered, staring at the floor and raking his fingers through his hair.

"If it's strange for you, imagine how it is for me," Leslie remarked, and fielded his dirty look just before the next labor pain began. This one was stronger than all the others had been, and she had to remind herself to breathe through it, though she couldn't talk. Christian gathered her hair back over her shoulders and held it there, then let it loose when the pain subsided. She reached up and grasped his hand, asking, "You're okay?"

Christian had to laugh. "My darling, no matter how much of a wreck I may turn into, I'll have it far easier than you will. And yet you ask me if I'm all right." He leaned down and kissed her gently. "I'll be just fine, once I have some sense of equilibrium here. Tell me what you'd like for me to do—massage, help you walk, get you anything…"

"Just be with me, right now," she said, then considered it. "But I guess I could use the walk, before I can't do it anymore. I'm starting to get dry mouth—I wonder if Dr. Giese will let me have anything." It had been agreed upon at Leslie's final prenatal checkup the previous week that Dr. Giese would be the one in charge of the process, with Dr. Hannaford providing backup and several nurses there to help and to attend to the triplets.

Christian smiled. "We'll ask when she comes back. Let's try walking." He helped her out of the bed, and they slowly paced in front of the bed, back and forth, for several laps, during which time Leslie went through three more labor pains. Dr. Hannaford looked in on them once, nodded approval and left again.

The next time a nurse returned, Christian eyed the fetal monitor and asked, "How am I to read that? If I can help by watching that thing…"

"Absolutely, Mr. Enstad," the nurse said, helping Leslie back into the bed. "Do you need to visit the bathroom, Mrs. Enstad?" Leslie shook her head and settled herself while the nurse turned to Christian and showed him how to read the monitor. She remained long enough for Leslie to go through another contraction, pointing out its start, its peak and its end to Christian so that he understood what he was looking for.

"Good," Christian said. "Leslie tells me she's getting dry mouth. Can she have some juice or something?"

"I'll check with Dr. Giese," the nurse said. "Would you like a chair, Mr. Enstad?"

"Perhaps later," Christian said, frowning a little, his eye on the monitor. The nurse nodded, smiling a little as if in amusement, and departed. He glanced at Leslie, who had closed her eyes and was breathing slowly and deeply through her nose. "My Rose…?"

"It's okay, my love," she said in a breathy voice, without opening her eyes. "Just trying to relax between cramps…contractions, the way they said in the classes."

"Good," Christian said again and swallowed, loudly enough that she heard it. She looked around then, saw him standing with his eyes closed, breathing deeply as she had done, but with his fists clenched.

"Christian, you're all tense," she said softly. "I know you're scared too, but I think you can relax…better than I can anyway." She caught his sheepish half-smile just before the next labor pain kicked in, and when he took her hand, she gripped it for all she was worth.

"_Herregud,"_ he said when it subsided, and pulled his hand loose, shaking it. "I think you've broken all my fingers." He grinned, and she made a face that got a laugh from him.

They passed the next two hours or so in this manner; finally Christian, having accompanied Leslie to the restroom several times, found the need to utilize the men's room, and told her before he left that he was going to check in with Roarke and see about getting something to eat. Though Leslie knew it would help refresh him for the delivery stage, her nervousness immediately rose as soon as he left the room, and she lay back and endured her labor pains with high-pitched groans while nurses looked in on her and Dr. Giese came in from time to time in order to see how far she had dilated. Christian had been gone about fifteen minutes when she came in and measured again, then smiled encouragingly at Leslie. "It won't be long now," she said in her surprisingly comforting German accent. "You need to dilate to ten centimeters, and you've just reached nine. I estimate that within an hour you'll be in the process of giving birth."

"I wish I weren't so tired already," Leslie panted, clinging to the bedrails in the absence of Christian's hand to hold onto. "I'm afraid I won't find any energy to push the babies out." Dr. Giese chuckled.

"I know it's difficult, but if you can let yourself go as limp as possible between your contractions, that may help a little. And many women find new energy when they learn it's actually time to begin pushing. So don't worry, Mrs. Enstad. Soon you'll really have work to do." She grinned, and Leslie rolled her eyes in response, but grinned faintly back.

As for Christian, when he left the men's room and emerged into the waiting room, he was startled to find not only Roarke, but also Anna-Kristina, Camille, Myeko and Katsumi there. The women immediately jumped to their feet when they saw him and surrounded him, asking excited questions; he laughed, startled, and lifted his hands. "No, nothing yet! Leslie is still dilating, according to Dr. Giese. I thought that I'd better take a break and have something to eat while I still have some time, because I'm to be there throughout the births and help Leslie through it all."

"In that case," Camille said, "is there anything you or Leslie forgot that you think you might need?" She grinned impishly. "That is, other than those baby-name books."

Christian shot the ceiling a glance and the women laughed. "I suppose I can call home and have Magga bring them up," he said, focusing on Anna-Kristina. "Tell me, _Kattersprinsessan,_ have you spoken with your sister at all?"

"During the weekends, yes," she told him, "and today she called me to tell me Aunt Leslie is in labor. Someone was driving up this way from the pineapple plantation, and gave me a ride here."

"The rest of us walked over," added Myeko. "I called your house about one o'clock to see how Leslie was feeling, and your niece told me you two had gone to the hospital. So I let all the other girls know. Lauren's out on the boat with Brian, of course, and Tabitha lives too far out to come up this way. Michiko and Maureen said they might be up later but they didn't see any point in coming in before Leslie was actually giving birth."

"Wise ladies," Christian remarked dryly, but smiled. "Well, at the moment there's no real news. If you'll kindly let me speak with Mr. Roarke a moment and then find something for an early supper, I'd be grateful." They let him loose, and he updated Roarke on the proceedings, such as they were.

Roarke nodded. "I see," he said. "Is Leslie asking for anything?"

"Only juice to keep dry mouth at bay," Christian said. "She hasn't been truly hungry in a couple of weeks now, and I suspect she'll have no appetite at all right now. But if I don't get something in my stomach now, I'll not have the chance until perhaps midnight, and I don't like to eat in the middle of the night."

"Understandable," Roarke said, amused. "Very well." He took in the other women. "If any of you ladies intend to remain for the duration, perhaps you'd prefer to accompany Christian to whatever destination he intends to have supper in."

They looked at one another, then decided it might be a good idea, so that Christian found himself accompanied by a smallish harem when he drove over to the hotel restaurant. Jimmy, Camille's husband, was working, and happened to be behind the front desk training a new clerk when he saw them go by. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked.

Christian laughed, looking embarrassed, and Camille snickered. "Not what it looks like, believe me. Leslie hasn't finished dilating yet, and Christian thought he'd better eat before he's really needed. We figured we'd come with him, because now that we're over there, we're not leaving till we know what Leslie gets."

Christian gave her a look. "Don't forget, Mrs. Omamara, those babies are also my children. Perhaps you should rephrase that."

Camille started, unused to being teased by Christian and missing the twinkle in his eye. "Omigod. I mean, we want to see what you and Leslie get. Sorry."

"He gotcha good with that royal-prince routine of his, Camille, didn't he," Jimmy chortled, catching Christian's grin and giving him a quick thumbs-up. "Just go and eat, and listen, Katsumi, Kazuo's in the kitchen if you want to let him know what's happening."

"Thank you, Jimmy," Katsumi said with a smile, and the group tromped back to the dining room. It was quiet in the mid-afternoon hour, and Kazuo spotted them through the open kitchen doors and came out to question them. Katsumi explained in rapid Japanese what the story was so far, and Kazuo nodded.

"I suppose you're nervous, Christian, and Leslie's terrified," he remarked amiably, leading the group to a table big enough to seat all five of them and taking the sixth chair long enough to talk a little.

"That's just about right," Christian admitted. "I'm nervous enough that my stomach's reacting, but I'd better try to eat whatever I can. I expect not to get another chance today."

"I'm sure of that," Kazuo agreed. "Well, then, what can I get for you?"

It took them almost half an hour to eat; Christian ate fairly rapidly and began to fidget when he was finished. Anna-Kristina noticed and commented in _jordiska_, "I think this is the first time I've ever seen you afraid of something, Uncle Christian!"

"Do you blame me?" he retorted in the same tongue. "These are my wife and children involved here—my very family at stake. Of course I'm afraid—but I can't let it show in front of Leslie. She's depending on me to help get her through childbirth."

Anna-Kristina sighed. "This is the only thing that could make me glad to be sterile. I don't think I'd have the strength or courage to do what Aunt Leslie is doing." She reached out and put a hand on his arm. "I've probably said this before, but I'm so glad you found Aunt Leslie and were finally set free from Marina to marry her. She's wonderful because she makes you so happy, and she's going to make you even happier now because she's giving birth to your children. You must have thought sometimes that it would never happen."

Christian shrugged and smiled a little. "There were many years between Johanna's death and my meeting Leslie that I wondered if I'd ever find that special woman. I'm sure in the near future we'll look back on this day and feel incredibly fortunate…but right now I'm simply afraid for Leslie and the babies. I just want to see to it that they all come through this intact and healthy." He looked at his watch and switched to English. "I'm sorry, ladies, but I mean to leave for the hospital within five minutes, and I won't wait any longer."

"I have finished," Katsumi said with a smile. "The others are slow eating."

Myeko sighed. "I guess I'm done. Camille?"

"I'll just bring the rest of my sandwich with me," Camille said, picking up a turkey pita wrap and folding a napkin around it. "We can leave anytime, Christian."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

The nurse had timed Leslie's contractions at just under two minutes apart, and Dr. Giese was measuring her cervix again. "You're fully dilated, Mrs. Enstad," she said, while Leslie gasped her way through another pain. "The real work is about to begin. You might notice that you can take a small rest between contractions, and if you can let all your muscles go limp then, it will help conserve your energy."

"They go limp anyway," Leslie managed between breaths. "They're already so tired that they just sag."

Dr. Giese laughed quietly. "That's good, it's a way of relaxing and gathering strength for pushing the babies out. I will be watching you very carefully through the entire process, all right? We will have two nurses here for each baby as it arrives, so that each time a child comes, it can be taken out of the way for testing and cleaning, and we are ready for the next to be born. The third baby will be the most crucial, so we must be sure that the first two are being cared for by others so that we can be sure the last one is born safely."

"I see," Leslie panted. She felt like a bellows, and her throat had gone dry again. "My mouth's…like—nooooooo!!" A new pain, more intense than those before it, seized her and in spite of herself, she tried to bear down. As the pain began to subside, she wailed, "I need to push!" She hadn't known the urge to expel a baby from her body would be so urgent, so overwhelming that it consumed every corner of her conscious mind.

"Push if you need to, until I tell you not to," Dr. Giese said. "Just listen to my instructions and you should be fine."

"Where's Christian?" Leslie cried. "I want my husband!"

"Calm down," Dr. Giese soothed, "I'll send for him." She had a quick word with a nurse, who promptly left the room. Leslie closed her eyes and reminded herself to keep her wits, but without Christian there she was more on edge. Before anyone came back, she had another pain, strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. Dr. Giese kept a close eye on her, giving her only a gentle reminder not to tense up while she was pushing.

Finally the door opened and Christian came in, with the nurse behind him. He got a look at her from the door, blinked and swallowed, then rushed to the side of the bed. "How are you doing, my Rose?" he asked anxiously.

"I need to push," Leslie said mindlessly, the urge crowding out everything else in her head. "H-h-hold my h-hand…!!" She'd barely gotten the last word out before shrieking in pain and trying again to push; Christian grabbed her hand and held on, trying to return the incredible grip she had on him, wincing but enduring.

"Keep breathing, Leslie," he said a little sharply, trying to get through the fog of pain and exhaustion he could see creeping over her. She blinked up at him and found a smile for him somewhere, then began to pant gently, forcing herself to remember the instructions she had been given in the childbirth classes.

Beyond that moment she slid into a sort of "robot" mode, doing whatever Dr. Giese or Christian told her. She barely felt it when her water broke and one of the nurses standing by immediately attended to it; she thought she heard Christian say something, but her mind was elsewhere, centered on the incredible pressure she felt between her legs. She felt as though she were running a fever; when Christian laid a hand on her forehead she twisted her head away. "Too hot," she moaned.

"All right, my darling," she heard him say, close to her right ear. "Do you want me to keep holding your hand?"

"Yes…" she panted, eyes closed. "Don't let go…"

"I won't, I promise," Christian said. Leslie opened her eyes and viewed the scene before her as though in a dream—the nurses standing around the end of the bed, watching and waiting; Dr. Giese in a chair just in front of her, giving instructions that came to her as if through a layer of cloth; Christian's hand wrapped around hers and his voice murmuring into her ear now and then. The room seemed almost too bright and she squinted a little; a nurse somehow noticed and lowered the light level. She felt very overheated and quite worn out; her bangs stuck to her sweaty forehead; and overall, there was the need to push that seemed to distort every other sense.

And Leslie pushed as she had never pushed in her life. Time ceased to mean anything, and she didn't care about it anyway. Then she felt stretched out, and there was a faint stinging sensation; at the same time Christian let out an exclamation and Dr. Giese called, "The baby is coming out, Mrs. Enstad—push now! Give it all your strength!"

She pushed and shrieked aloud at the same time, and there was a peculiar slippery sensation between her legs. Dr. Giese called to her to push again; mindlessly she obeyed, and there was a happy shout from Christian. "Leslie, my Rose, the first baby is here!"

Leslie's eyes popped open; probably no other statement from him would have gotten through to her at that moment. "It is?"

"Yes, and…" She watched him stretch forward, trying to see, and Dr. Hannaford looked up and grinned at them both.

"It's a girl, Mr. and Mrs. Enstad," she said cheerfully. "Looks fantastic."

"A girl," Leslie breathed, given a moment's respite as if nature were pausing before putting her through this ordeal again. The attending nurse settled Christian and Leslie's daughter over the top of Leslie's still-distended abdomen, and both stunned parents reached out to tentatively touch the baby while the cord was cut. Leslie was partially inclined, so that she and Christian needed only to steady the newborn to keep her in place. The baby's eyes were closed and the face seemed at repose; her head was distorted somewhat from her passage into the world, and there was a fair amount of some cheesy-looking material covering her.

Dr. Giese glanced up and smiled. "That's vernix caseosa," she explained, "something we see in premature babies in some abundance. Of course your triplets will have that, as they are premature. It's normal. Now if you can stand it, we'll take her away to clean her up, and get her siblings out here to join her." The nurse gently lifted the baby off Leslie's stomach and toted her away, and Christian and Leslie stared at each other for a moment, their eyes huge with wonder, before a labor pain caught her off guard and catapulted her back into the business of giving birth.

It seemed forever to Leslie, but only five minutes passed in fact before she again felt the slippery exit of a baby. Dr. Giese sounded tickled when she announced, "You have another baby girl, Mr. and Mrs. Enstad." She laid the second baby on Leslie's stomach for inspection by her parents, remarking cheerfully to her colleague, "Pamela, these two must be the identical twins you diagnosed early in the pregnancy."

"So it seems," Dr. Hannaford said and grinned. "Very good—now all we need to do is get number three out, and the worst will be over."

This time it took longer. Leslie vaguely registered Christian's hand gradually growing tighter and tighter around hers, began to feel frustrated when pushing seemed to be ineffective, and felt fatigue creeping in on her. At one point she moaned, "Pleeeeeease…come out…" and heard Christian's weary laugh beside her.

At last Leslie felt the slippery sensation again and groaned aloud, pushing with what seemed the last of her strength. "There's the little devil finally!" said Dr. Hannaford, laughing. "Well, that's that. Number three is a big healthy boy!"

"Oh…" Leslie said, blinking. Automatically she looked up at Christian, whose hazel eyes had grown very wide, his face lighting. There had been the same wonder in his eyes when he'd seen their daughters; but now there was something extra in his expression.

"A son," he breathed, meeting her gaze. She caught her breath at the tears that stood in his eyes. "I couldn't ask for more from you, my darling…it's perfect."

"I hope we can…" Leslie began, but never finished the sentence. A heavy pain shot through her and she moaned again in distress, vaguely hearing Dr. Giese encourage her to expel the placenta. Her reserves were just about gone, and it was all she could do to push again, but she gave it whatever she had left.

"Someone clear out that blood," she heard Dr. Hannaford snap suddenly, and there was a gasp from Christian. The pain in her abdomen increased, and she closed her eyes against the lightheaded feeling that assaulted her. She began to lose awareness of what was around her; someone said, "Uterine inversion," making her wonder what that was. She tried to ask, but all she got out was a weak moan that faded on her. As the darkness claimed her, she heard, through a long tunnel, Christian's cry, "Leslie, _no!_ . . ." It was the last thing she knew; she couldn't fight the oblivion that swallowed her.

‡ ‡ ‡

It was about six-twenty, and Roarke had plenty of company in the waiting room by now: Anna-Kristina had gone home, due to obligations there, but the Enstads' friends had all gathered there by this time, Brian and Lauren with their baby son in tow. Michiko had been able to leave Catalina with her parents; Jimmy and Camille Omamara depended on fourteen-year-old David to watch his brother and sister, as did Kazuo and Katsumi Miyamoto on Haruko to watch Chikako. Fernando and Tabitha had left their children with her mother and father; Nick and Myeko had dropped off Alexander, Noelle and Dawn at the Senseis' house, and Grady and Maureen had left Brianna with the Tomais. Julie and Rogan had come in as well, bringing four-year-old Rory, who spent all his time asking questions.

Suddenly the doors from the corridor opened and Christian came through, looking rumpled and dazed. Everyone turned to see who it was, waiting eagerly for the verdict once they realized it was Christian; only Roarke saw his demeanor and arose from his seat. "Are you all right, Christian?" he asked. "How is Leslie?"

Christian blinked and looked around, as if trying to focus, and took in all the eager faces with a faintly startled expression. "I don't know how I am," he said, sounding stunned; concern crept into the faces around him. "Exhausted, numb…scared…"

"Babies will scare anybody till you get used to having them around," Julie said with a smile. "I know—it happened to me when Rory was born. What'd you get?"

"We have two girls and a boy," said Christian, "born in that order." He slowly ran his hands through his already-tousled dark hair and let his head drop.

"What about Leslie?" Roarke prompted quietly but urgently.

Christian hesitated, frowning, then said, "She suffered something called uterine inversion, if I remember the phrase correctly." He met Roarke's alarmed stare with a look of pure fear in his eyes. "I don't know the particulars. Dr. Hannaford said she would be out here to explain when they have Leslie stabilized…" His voice thickened on the final word and he turned aside, closing his eyes. A couple of low whistles, several murmured curses and exclamations ran around the waiting room.

"What happened?" Roarke asked gently.

Christian looked up. "She started to say something after our son arrived, and then she must have had some pain. We thought it was due to the need to deliver the placenta, but even I could see that she was having more pain than it warranted. Then she suddenly started bleeding heavily, and even as I watched I could see her going into shock, losing consciousness. The doctors sent me out of the room then. I don't know what's happening to her, Mr. Roarke. I…fate help me, but I don't want to lose her…"

Roarke laid a hand on his shoulder and looked around the group, but before he could say anything, the doors opened again and Dr. Hannaford and Dr. Giese came out. They saw Roarke and Christian in the middle of the floor and approached them both; Roarke asked, "What exactly happened to Leslie?"

"Will she be all right?" Christian demanded frantically.

"She's stabilized now—still unconscious, but no further complications. What she experienced, Mr. Enstad and Mr. Roarke, is a condition called uterine inversion," Dr. Hannaford explained. "The placenta that the triplets shared was implanted across the top of Mrs. Enstad's uterus, and didn't completely detach before she had to deliver it. So when she was trying to push it out, the top of the uterus came down with it. We had to remove the placenta and replace the uterus in its proper position." She sighed heavily. "It's necessary to remove all placental material, and that took just long enough that Mrs. Enstad started to go into shock and lost consciousness. We've got the uterus back in place and administered oxytocin to help firm it up. She has to have pressure on her abdomen as well to keep it in proper position. But she suffered enough shock and blood loss that she may be out for a good while to come. The babies are just fine, and they have excellent birth weights for preemie triplets: they're all a trace over three pounds each. They're being cared for now, but they're all doing beautifully. It's Mrs. Enstad we're keeping a sharp eye on now."

"Is her life in any danger?" Christian demanded sharply, and everyone could see that the prince in him had emerged again. He wanted answers and he wanted them _now._

"No, Mr. Enstad, she won't die," Dr. Giese said gently. "But she was in shock for just long enough that she will need to be watched for some time. I suggest the best thing you can do is to return home, and we will notify you when…"

"No," Christian said flatly. "I don't leave here until my wife wakes up." There was an implacable finality to his tone that even the doctors, who didn't know him as well as Roarke and their friends did, couldn't miss; they looked at each other.

"She can't have anyone in the room with her right now," Dr. Giese said. "If you insist on staying, we can't force you to leave. But here we must draw the line—you must wait until we know that her sleep is natural."

Christian looked rebellious, and he might have protested had Roarke not put a hand on his shoulder again. "Don't argue, Christian," he advised. "If this is what is best for Leslie, then you must concede to it. You know that her life isn't in danger and that the babies are in fine health, so you need not panic nor worry. Wait if you must, but I think it better that you wait here in this room, where you have company."

Christian looked around as if just now noticing his and Leslie's friends there. He let a faint smile emerge, and said softly, "My apologies…perhaps I was a little strident there. I should call my niece at my home in any case and let her know what happened." He hung his head again and shook it a little. "But I can't just leave here and wonder all night—I'd never sleep anyway." He looked up again and said, "Thank you all for staying."

Silence prevailed in the room for a long few minutes; the doctors excused themselves and quietly left. Roarke resumed his seat, and Julie got up so Christian could take her chair beside him. "Rogan," she said softly, "I think we'd better take Rory home. We'll only be in the way if we sit around here. Uncle, call us when something changes." At Roarke's nod and smile, she took Rory's hand and left, with Rogan a few paces behind her after giving Christian a brief shoulder squeeze.

"After all this," Camille finally remarked, shaking her head. "All the rest of us were producing babies practically on an assembly line, easy as pie. Leslie had to stand around and watch…she was single all that time, but not everybody had kids, so she was okay about it. And then she married you, Christian, and then suddenly everybody had kids, and Leslie just wanted her own so bad."

"Leslie always wanted kids, I think," Myeko agreed. "You could tell she was thrilled to death when she got pregnant, and even more when it was triplets…"

"Christian, don't worry," Maureen suggested. "The doctors said she'll be okay, she just needs some recovery time. You'll all go home as a family and you two will be terrific parents. Those are three lucky kids."

Christian looked up and smiled, ever so slightly. "I appreciate your good wishes," he said softly. "I just…I'm sorry, but you must realize…" He stopped, swallowed thickly, then shook his head. "Please excuse me just a moment." With that he shot to his feet and all but ran out of the waiting room into the early-summer evening.

"You know," Nick said, "I don't think we're doing all that much good ourselves, sitting around here wondering. Congratulations on the grandchildren, Mr. Roarke…and keep us all posted if you don't mind." General agreement rose on this, and everyone slowly got to their feet preparatory to leaving. Only Michiko stayed where she was, watching the others departing, nodding and smiling at the women. When the waiting room had emptied out, she shifted chairs and took a seat near Roarke, who looked pensive.

"I know Christian loves Leslie very much," she said, "but I didn't realize just how closely his happiness is tied to her. He's terrified for her, isn't he, Mr. Roarke?"

"Very much so," Roarke said, letting his gaze stray to the entrance door that Christian had rushed through. "Though he was raised royalty and had a privileged life, never lacking for material things, he had to cope with a fundamental emotional lack for much of his life, especially after his mother died. I've sensed that Christian has never before known the sort of happiness he's found with Leslie. So as you see, any threat to her has the potential to destroy him." He regarded the queen with a sympathetic smile. "I remember very well how close you and Leslie were, almost from the first day you and she met. You seemed to be in her company a little more often than the other women. Perhaps, if you're willing, you might stay for a time—bolster Christian's spirits by sharing memories of your friendship with Leslie. It will help him to focus on something other than his fear for her, and give him the hope he so badly wants to cling to."

Michiko nodded eagerly. "I'll do anything I can, Mr. Roarke."

"Good…thank you," he said and smiled encouragingly. "Give Christian a moment to recover his composure, and we'll see if we can help him."

A few more minutes passed before Christian returned, his head down, and found an empty seat a few chairs away from Roarke and Michiko. "Christian, do you need anything at all?" Roarke inquired gently.

"No," Christian murmured without raising his head. "I only wish…" His voice trailed off and he simply sat without moving.

Michiko cleared her throat. "Christian, I was just thinking of something Leslie said once," she remarked. When he looked up, she went on, "It was not too long after she first came to the island, and she was at my house one afternoon—we were doing some homework together. I had been wondering what she'd do if I asked her about her family, but then Leslie herself made a comment about Myeko's younger twin brothers and said that she was glad the twins in her family had been girls. That was how I first learned she'd had twin sisters." She smiled at the glimmer of interest in Christian's eyes. "She's never talked too much about Kristy and Kelly, but I knew she missed them whenever she thought of them over the years. I knew, because sometimes when we girls were speculating about what our futures might be like, she said a few times that she hoped maybe she too would have twins. And look, now she has, plus a bonus baby. You helped her wish come true."

Christian released a huff of amusement and shook his head. "Strange how Leslie herself never told me that," he mused. "Perhaps she had the idea that expressing the wish, here on an enchanted island, would give it some chance of coming true."

"She could never have done it without you, Christian," Roarke noted humorously, "as I'm sure you realize."

"Well, there is that," Christian agreed with a short chuckle. He shifted in his chair and regarded the two of them with slowly increasing interest. "Perhaps, if you don't mind indulging me, you'd tell me more about Leslie as you recall her—both of you."

Roarke chuckled suddenly and took note of Christian's and Michiko's curious expressions. "Leslie had been on the island nearly a year when she celebrated her first New Year's Eve with us," he said. "She had a little ritual that she had evidently developed with her mother when she was a small child, and I happened to catch her at it…"

§ § § -- December 31, 1979

Roarke had seen his teenaged ward detach herself from the main gathering in the clearing and duck off into the trees, clearly with some purpose in mind. The huge upheavals of the previous month—Helena's death and Tattoo's near-departure—were still fresh in all their minds, and he wondered if she found it necessary to grieve. Unobtrusively he followed her; it took him a couple of minutes to find her, and even then it wasn't till he heard her voice murmuring, as if speaking to someone. She was sitting facing the ocean, on a white wrought-iron bench situated among a few huge palms, bathed in the light of the full moon. Curious, Roarke drew in closer to listen, wondering whom she was addressing.

"Well, nineteen seventy-nine," Leslie remarked, "you were an okay year, I guess. For awhile I thought we were all going to fall apart, what with Mr. Roarke getting widowed and Tattoo almost leaving. But maybe I should thank you for what you brought me. I came here to Fantasy Island and I have four really great friends, and I've got a sort of adopted uncle in Tattoo, and I have the best guardian in the world in Mr. Roarke. After that fire, I thought the world had ended, but Mom really knew what she was doing. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.

"…So thanks, old year. Thanks for the gifts you brought me." She let out her breath and fell silent, staring out to sea; Roarke sensed she was considering all the things that had happened to her. Soon it would be a full year since she had come to Fantasy Island, and it had undoubtedly been the most eventful thus far in her young life.

He smiled, moved soundlessly to the bench and sat next to her. Leslie turned in surprise and stared at him. "Oh, hi," she said inanely.

"Hi yourself," Roarke replied humorously. "What, pray tell, brings you out here all by yourself? Have your friends deserted you?"

"No…it's not like that." Leslie fidgeted for a few seconds, as though searching for words. "I was just thinking a little bit."

Roarke raised an eyebrow. "Less than ten minutes before midnight on New Year's Eve? What did you tell your friends that they let you run away from them?"

The moonlight silvered his hair and features enough that she could see his skeptical smile. "I wasn't running away," Leslie said defensively. "I just…well, I told them I had to go to the ladies' room. But I wasn't really running away."

"Mm-hmm," Roarke responded, his smile widening a bit.

"I _wasn't,"_ she insisted.

Roarke chuckled softly. "Then if you weren't running away, what exactly were you doing? It must be quite important to you that you were willing to fib to your friends in order to have some time alone." At which point the moon seemed to put a certain gleam in his dark eyes; he knew she must see it, and said deliberately, "If you can't tell the 'best guardian in the world', whom can you tell?"

She drew in a sharp, stunned breath and stared at him, her face radiating warmth. "Oh…you heard me," she moaned. "I didn't mean for anyone to…oh gosh, I must've looked so stupid, sitting out here talking to myself like that."

Roarke chuckled again. "It so happens that I saw you leave the party, and I came after you to see if there was anything wrong. By the time you started to speak, I was close enough to hear every word." His gaze warmed. "I believe I understand what you were trying to do. Tell me, how did you come up with such an idea?"

"Mom and I always did it," Leslie said softly, her gaze drifting out of focus and somewhere out across the ocean. "We started it when I was so little I don't remember _not_ doing it. It was just me and her—even my sisters never knew about it. Last year I just told the old year goodbye and good riddance, because it took my mother away from me. But this year was different." She seemed to realize what she was saying and brought her full attention back to him. "I just didn't want to miss the ritual. It became a tradition, and I didn't want to stop it."

Roarke smiled and nodded. "You had a very special mother, Leslie. I believe that, ever since she came here and learned what was going to happen to her and to you, she felt that you were chosen in some way. I suspect that's why she shared this little ritual with only you and not your sisters. It was her way of leaving you a legacy that you could keep, to remember her by—a unique and touching way."

"I didn't think anyone would understand," Leslie admitted. "Doing it alone, well…as I said, it just looks like I'm talking to myself. So I needed privacy for it."

"Ah, child," Roarke said, shaking his head a little. "You may find that you are not as alone as you think—if you only open your heart and let someone inside."

Out of nowhere he saw her eyes fill with tears. "I learned a lot from you this year, Mr. Roarke. And I think I just learned that moving on doesn't mean I'm replacing Mom in my heart." She loudly sniffed back the tears, then said softly, "I love you, Mr. Roarke."

"I've come to love you as well, Leslie," he said and smiled.

From behind them they heard a chorus of voices counting down: "…five, four, three, two, one—_Happy New Year!"_ Shouts and cheers rang through the night, and they heard the band launch into a creditable imitation of Guy Lombardo's version of "Auld Lang Syne". They looked at each other for a moment.

"Happy New Year, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said and grinned suddenly. "Should old acquaintance be forgot, and all that."

Roarke's eyes twinkled. "Indeed. Here's to a bright new year." They pretended to clink imaginary glasses together, then laughed and got up to return to the party.

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

Christian fell back a bit in his chair, eyes wide. "So that's what that's all about!" he said. "I caught her at it last year, and when she noticed I was there, she instantly stopped speaking. I asked her, but she wouldn't tell me what she was doing, and I've wondered about it from time to time ever since then." He smiled, his expression wistful and a little sad. "It would have been something I myself would like to get involved in, although I called it thanking fate…or scolding it, as the case might have been, in a given year. I would have verbally thrashed the year 1985 for taking Mother from us, and I would have thanked 1996 because I fell in love with Leslie. Just as examples."

Roarke and Michiko smiled, and Michiko remarked, "I'll bet you anything Leslie thanked 1996 when it ended, because she met you."

"I would hope so," Christian said dryly, and they laughed. "So what else can you tell me?"

"You know how much she loves her job," Roarke said. "She was intrigued with the fantasies from the time she arrived here and began to learn just what takes place here. Occasionally I'd let her assist a bit in one or another fantasy, especially if Tattoo was busy with other duties. And there were some decidedly unusual guests here from time to time. Her reactions and interactions were very entertaining. As an example, she took things surprisingly in stride when she came face to face with a mermaid…"


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- November 1, 1980

On their way to the pool, Roarke was waylaid by a vacationer who wanted to know if the famous Saturday-night luau was being held that weekend; and then at the pool itself, someone else stopped him to ask another question. Leslie was used to this and paid little attention. She and her friends had planned to try to meet at the pool sometime that afternoon and rehash Myeko's Halloween party of the evening before, although Leslie wasn't looking forward to that overmuch, due to the spectacular failure of her costume. She scanned the poolside concrete, half hoping she wouldn't see her friends there, and then saw something that made her totally forget the party, her costume and everything else. Her eyes and mouth flew wide open simultaneously, and she reached blindly behind her and grabbed Roarke's arm. "Mr. Roarke…look!" she choked out.

Roarke turned and glanced in the direction in which she was pointing, then sharply again as the image registered. It was Nyah, strolling along the poolside, as naked as any newborn baby! She had quite literally nothing on; only her long, long hair trailed behind her, and she made no attempt to use it to cover anything. A native serving girl turned to deliver a drink to someone and gaped in shock, the glass tumbling off the tray and crashing to the ground. Men gawked and pointed; one of them stared at her and choked on his drink. Nyah paused at the lip of the pool and raised her arms to dive in.

Roarke seized a beach blanket from a stack near the bar and dashed up behind her, throwing the blanket around her and towing the bewildered mermaid away. Leslie had never seen him so embarrassed, and bit her lip as he made hasty excuses. "Excuse us, there's been a slight mistake. She's a health-club member and…obviously, she's had too much sun. I'm terribly sorry. Please have a drink on me, won't you?—no, two! I'm terribly sorry…I apologize." He started hurriedly out of the pool area, turning a fierce glare on Nyah; Leslie fled after them, hoping to avoid any questions.

Near a fountain at a safe distance from the pool, Roarke yanked Nyah around to face him, but she spoke before he could. "Well, you told me to look for love at the pool!" she protested, annoyed.

"You are on dry land now," Roarke pointed out in a rage as royal as any Nyah might claim, "and we humans observe certain conventions—clothing, for instance!"

"That's silly," sneered Nyah.

"Nonetheless, while you are on Fantasy Island, you will observe the general rules of human conduct. You will wear clothing! Is that clear?" Roarke snapped.

"Yes!" shouted Nyah.

"All right," Roarke returned, exasperated.

Nyah glowered. "I have never heard of anything so stupid in my entire eternal life," she griped. "I'm afraid this human love is going to be dull, dull, dull!" Roarke stared at her, tried to think of something to say and finally gave up, at the end of his rope. Leslie winced and sighed deeply.

"There should be some bathing suits in the bungalow," she offered, in the hope of placating both her guardian and the mermaid.

"Well enough," Roarke said shortly. "Come along, Nyah, and we'll see which of them will fit you." Again he grabbed her arm and pulled her along, with Leslie trailing faithfully behind; she was beginning to feel rather like a dog without the leash.

At the bungalow, Roarke spent the better part of an hour explaining to Nyah the different types of clothing and their respective purposes. At one point, while he was describing pajamas, she gave him an incredulous look. "Great Neptune, you humans even wear clothing when you sleep?"

"Well, not all of them do," Leslie said before she thought.

Roarke gave her a very dirty look. "Leslie Susan," he said, exasperated this time with her. She turned bright red and compressed her lips; but Nyah peered at her with bright-eyed interest.

"Is this true?" she asked.

Leslie saw her guardian's heavy frown and sighed. "Well, come on, Mr. Roarke," she protested. "It's not as if it isn't common knowledge that not everyone wears pajamas."

"And do _you_ wear them?" Nyah asked her, catching Roarke's attention and making him fight a sudden smile.

Leslie turned even redder. "Of _course_ I wear them," she said, scandalized.

Nyah then turned to Roarke and put the same question to him, which evoked a sudden grin from Leslie now that the tables had been turned. Roarke narrowed his eyes at the mermaid and said with unassailable finality, "Moving on…we have the swimsuit, which you are to wear in this instance." Leslie giggled, and he directed one long, quelling look at her before picking up a one-piece suit and handing it to Nyah for inspection…

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

By the time Roarke finished, Christian was laughing, tipping forward in his chair and holding his stomach from mirth. Roarke and Michiko joined him, though Roarke knew that at least some of Christian's unusual mirth stemmed from a partial release of tension born of his immense worry about Leslie. "Now that," Christian chortled gleefully, "sounds like the Leslie I know! By that time she must have slowly begun to grow accustomed to all the strange things that happen here." He gave them a sheepish grin and added, "Rather unlike me, I'm sorry to confess."

Michiko laughed aloud. "Don't worry, Christian, you're not alone, believe me!" she assured him. "Even the rest of us girls, who grew up here and knew the basic reason this island was so popular with tourists, had only a surface idea of what really went on around here. Leslie was the lucky one who got to see behind the scenes, and it didn't take long before we'd all corner her at lunch every Monday at school and make her tell us about the fantasies from the weekend. I think she had as much fun amazing us as we had listening to all the stories she told. She's always loved her job—I'm sure you yourself have seen it. And it was pretty clear that she was very attached to both Mr. Roarke and Tattoo. As a matter of fact, I can remember the way she kept trying to come up with little surprises for their birthdays. I think she got away with doing more for Tattoo than for Mr. Roarke, but she never quit trying. I can recall one evening toward the end of a school week when she was plotting something else for Tattoo's birthday…"

§ § § -- January 15, 1981

Leslie and Michiko sat on the porch railing at the main house, about an hour before suppertime, dangling their feet and talking. "Wouldn't it have been nice if you could have kept in touch with her?" Michiko said, referring to Trudy Brown, a young gymnast who had been on the island the previous weekend. "It sounds like you two became good friends."

"She won't have time," Leslie said. "Between all the gymnastic practicing and the competitions she'll be in, and that guy—I bet they're going to fall in love—she'll be just too busy. But that's okay. It's still nice to cross people's paths like that now and then."

"That's true," said Michiko. "So do you know what's coming this weekend?"

"Not yet," said Leslie. "But Mr. Roarke's been talking to some silver-tongued Irishman lately…something about giving the guy a little break from his trials and travails, whatever that means. Tattoo knows about it—said the guy's a painter. That'd be right up his alley. As for me…well, I guess we'll see." She grinned suddenly. "Actually, Tattoo's birthday is coming up in another six weeks or so, and Mr. Roarke says it's going to be huge, so he's letting me in on all the plans. I can't wait. Most of the time both Mr. Roarke and Tattoo just gloss over their birthdays. Tattoo even scolded me last year because I made him cupcakes for his birthday. But not this year." She smirked.

"What's happening this year?" Michiko asked.

"Well, I don't know much yet, but Mr. Roarke told me he's going to try to arrange something really special. He's been making phone calls all over the place this week. Whatever it is, I hope he tells me soon, so I have a chance to figure out what present I'm getting Tattoo. You never saw two people who are so hard to get gifts for."

Michiko laughed. "I just bet!"

At that moment the door opened and Tattoo emerged. "What are you two doing out here?" he asked. "Planning anarchy?"

"Oh, nothing nearly as destructive as that," Leslie said with a grin at Michiko, "but just about as ambitious." The girls giggled, and Tattoo gave them a funny look before giving up and shrugging. Leslie focused on him. "Why, is it suppertime already?"

"Almost," Tattoo said. "The boss isn't back from talking to that Irish artist again, though, so you don't have to hurry just yet." Behind him they all heard the phone ring inside the study, and he rolled his eyes. "Here we go again. Hi, Michiko." He smiled at them both before ducking back inside and closing the door.

"If you have a party, tell me," Michiko said. "I think it would be so much fun to help Tattoo celebrate his birthday. After all, Father does work for Mr. Roarke."

"That's right," said Leslie. "Well, when I know more, I'll tell you."

Michiko nodded. "Okay. I guess I'd better get home. If you're going to be eating supper soon, chances are we will too. See you in school tomorrow."

"Friday at last," Leslie said, and both girls laughed…

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

"Your father worked for Mr. Roarke?" Christian asked Michiko blankly.

She nodded. "Yes, my father was the sheriff for quite a few years. He retired in 1992 and has been enjoying life ever since then." She blinked suddenly and remarked, "You know, Mr. Roarke, it just occurred to me, Leslie forgot to tell me about the party you were planning to throw for Tattoo, at least beforehand. I had to hear about it after the fact, like all the other girls did. I don't think she ever told me what present she got him, though."

"Ah, yes, " Roarke said and smiled broadly. "Then let me tell you about it…"

§ § § -- February 16, 1981

For more than three weeks Leslie had been asking the same question of Roarke every afternoon as soon as she got in the door from school: "Is it here yet?" Each time Roarke had had to tell her no; today, before she got the question out of her mouth, he said, "Yes, Leslie, it's finally here. Kali delivered it this morning."

"Oh, great!" she exclaimed, leaping exuberantly off the two steps into the foyer and rushing to Roarke's desk, where a small package bearing the simple address _Leslie Hamilton, Main House, Fantasy Island_ sat. "I can't wait to see the look on Tattoo's face when he opens this one!" she added, dropping her books onto a club chair and pulling away the layers of brown paper that concealed the contents of the package.

"You were fortunate to get those paints at all, you know," Roarke told her. "That's part of why it took so long for them to arrive. In fact, I have it on good authority that it should have taken far longer."

She looked up at him curiously. "Really? Well, maybe they put priority on this order because you helped me get it." She smiled at him, and Roarke smiled back, watching her pull off the last of the paper and carefully open the little white cardboard box that was revealed. Inside lay four tubes of paint in rare colors, ordered especially from a tiny artist-supply company in a French-speaking canton of Switzerland which created and mixed all its paints by hand using natural ingredients. Both Roarke and Leslie had been aware for some time that Tattoo had at least a dozen unfinished paintings sitting in the small sunny studio at his cottage, just waiting for what Tattoo called "the right colors". After some less-than-subtle questioning, Leslie had managed to compile a list of the colors Tattoo wanted, and had saved money from Christmas forward so that she could get him the colors he needed the most. Roarke had found the company and had helped her order the paints.

"Oh, Mr. Roarke, look!" she breathed, lifting out a tube of shimmering copper with tiny glints in the paint. "These are gorgeous!" She handed him the first tube and took out the second, a glowing gold that seemed almost to have its own light. She laid this on the desk and extracted the remaining two: a rich, luminous green and a beautiful Caribbean blue just the pale, translucent color of the shallows on Fantasy Island's own beaches. Each color seemed to have a special richness and depth to it that couldn't be achieved by simply mixing ordinary paint colors to create approximations.

"Yes, they were very much worth the price," Roarke agreed, examining the tubes one by one with interest. "There is no doubt in my mind that Tattoo will be delighted with these. Perhaps now," he added, looking up at Leslie with a twinkle in his dark eyes, "he will finally be able to complete all those paintings."

"Yeah!" she agreed, laughing. "I was hoping I could get him that gorgeous sunset red I saw in the catalog, but I had only enough money for these four. Well, maybe he can finish _some_ of those paintings anyway."

Roarke chuckled and opened a drawer, removing another package the size of the one Leslie had just opened. "As a matter of fact, I acted upon your idea," he told her. "Look inside." He handed her the box, and she opened it to reveal five more tubes, including the vibrant red she had mentioned.

"Oh, he'll be thrilled, Mr. Roarke!" Leslie exclaimed. "I can't wait for Sunday…it'll be so great just to see the look on his face when he sees these. What about the big surprise you're giving him…is it really going to happen?"

"I just received final confirmation this morning, shortly after you left for school," said Roarke, sitting back in his chair with a satisfied smile. "All the plans are made and everything is ready to be put into motion. We need only wait for Saturday."

Leslie looked over at the grandfather clock, as if by doing so she could speed up time. "It's going to be the longest four days on earth," she said with a sigh.

Roarke laughed. "The weekend will be here soon enough," he said. "You can pass some of the time right now by getting started on whatever homework you have…"

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

"Clearly she survived the wait," Christian remarked humorously. "How did Tattoo like his gift?"

"I was about to ask you that myself," Michiko said, and Roarke laughed.

"They were quite the success," he said with a reminiscent smile. "That was the weekend he met the young woman he eventually married, Solange Latignon. At the time her main goal was to pursue a career in professional dance; and Tattoo, knowing she must leave the following day, asked her to sit for a portrait…"

§ § § -- February 22, 1981

Roarke had just set up Solange in front of a suitably tropical setting; and silence fell now, broken only by the distant chirping of crickets, as Tattoo got up and went to stand behind the easel, gauging the setting with his own critical artist's eye. Roarke glanced at Leslie, who stood watching with her hands clasped behind her back, and prodded, "Well, Tattoo, what do you think?"

Tattoo's dark eyes twinkled and he said with a grin, "Toulouse-Lautrec, eat your heart out!" Roarke, Leslie and Solange burst into laughter, and Tattoo beamed back at them before lifting the palette and preparing to mix the paints he needed.

"Oh!" Leslie blurted, coming suddenly to life. "Wait before you start doing that, Tattoo. Mr. Roarke, we almost forgot!"

Roarke's eyes widened as he realized what she meant. "You're right, Leslie! Go ahead and get the boxes."

"I'll bring you a piece of cake while I'm doing that," Leslie said to a quizzical Tattoo.

"I don't know that Toulouse-Lautrec ate cake while he painted," Roarke teased.

"You never know," Leslie replied with a grin, "but even if he didn't, Tattoo should at least have some of his own birthday cake." The adults laughed agreement and she rushed off to get the items in question.

"Boss, what's she talking about?" Tattoo asked.

"Just wait," Roarke said with a smile. "I think you'll like these gifts."

Several minutes later Leslie came back carrying a plate of cake and two boxes; Roarke pulled a table over to stand near the easel, and Leslie set her burden down on it. "There," she said. "Go ahead and open them."

"Right this minute, huh?" Tattoo said with an indulgent grin. "Okay, if you insist." He read the card on the top box, which happened to be Leslie's, and chuckled when an entire sheet of paper fell out. She went pink and glanced at Solange and Roarke.

"What would that be?" Roarke queried with interest.

"I just wrote him a little letter, that's all," she said and stared at her shoes for a moment, adding, "You might want to wait and read it later on, Tattoo."

He grinned. "If it's as mushy as I think it is, I probably should." Her look of relief made him laugh before he returned his attention to her gift and removed the paper.

His expression was priceless when he saw what lay inside. "The Swiss Special paints!" he burst out, awed. "Leslie, this is perfect! These things cost a fortune…and you were willing to go to all that trouble for me?"

"I just figured it was time you finished all those half-done paintings sitting in your studio," she teased him, and again everyone laughed. Tattoo was equally delighted with the colors Roarke had given him.

"I'll break them in right now," he said and promptly made good on his word, busily mixing paint and taking the occasional bite of cake in between…

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

"I seem to recall Leslie having spoken of Tattoo's wife," Christian mused, "though I don't remember…no, wait…I do. She said she visited him and Solange the same year she took her first trip to Lilla Jordsö, before she and I met. Do you hear from her at all, Mr. Roarke?"

"Rarely," Roarke said. "At last report she and their three children were well, and she had gone back to dancing part-time now that they are teenagers. The youngest one seemed quite enamored of Leslie, although I strongly suspect that today she has little or no memory of that time." He chuckled. "Tattoo and Leslie were close, in the way that you and your niece Anna-Kristina are. However, he wasn't above teasing her from time to time…"

§ § § -- November 2, 1981

"Well, this is highly unusual," Roarke said, frowning at his date book. "Leslie, are you responsible for this?"

"For what, Mr. Roarke?" asked Leslie blankly, looking up from her homework.

"Mrs. Cora Parnell is to arrive here on the island on Friday," Roarke said with an ominous tone in his voice. "Friday, Leslie! Pray tell, exactly why is that?"

"Oh," Leslie blurted. "Mr. Roarke, before you get all upset with me, I ought to tell you that you okayed it. Mrs. Parnell's grandchildren wanted her to have her favorite fantasy granted specifically on her birthday. They said she had to have it this year because she isn't expected to see her next birthday. It just so happens that her birthday fell on a Friday this year, and when I read you the letter, you told me to go ahead and schedule it."

Roarke thought back and then remembered a little belatedly. "Ah yes, you're right, Leslie. My apologies. Unfortunately, we have a time-travel fantasy for next weekend, and we are going to have a great many preparations for it this week. Tattoo, my friend, perhaps you would take care of the Parnell fantasy."

Tattoo looked slightly dubious. "Not that I mind, boss, but…what kind of fantasy did Mrs. Parnell's grandchildren want us to grant for her?"

"She wants to be Cinderella," Roarke said.

"Cinderella?" Tattoo echoed. "If she has grandkids, she must be an old lady. And the last time I heard that fairy tale, Cinderella was pretty young."

"So what do you see as the obstacle?" Roarke asked, genuinely perplexed.

Tattoo stared at him, and Leslie started to laugh. "Oh, come on, Tattoo," she said, "there's no trick to making old ladies young for a while. Mr. Roarke's done it so many times it's old hat to him. The thing I really want to see is mice turning into coachmen and all that stuff. Not to mention the ugly stepsisters."

"You're very bad," Tattoo teased her, grinning. "Okay, boss, I guess it shouldn't be a problem. Just let me know what you need me to do."

"Thank you, my friend," Roarke said with a smile. "Since this fantasy will be entirely your responsibility, you may take the rest of the weekend off. Besides, Julie is to grant a fantasy of her own for the first time, and that will be hectic enough."

"In that case, I'll be more than happy to take care of Mrs. Parnell's fantasy," Tattoo said, rolling his eyes. "Julie's a nice kid, but…well, let's just say I'd rather be well out of the way when she gets her hands on whatever fantasy you're giving her."

Roarke gave him a disapproving look. "You might consider giving her the benefit of the doubt," he said.

Tattoo looked honestly puzzled. "How come, boss?"

Leslie eyed him. "What if it were me?" she asked.

"_Sacre bleu,_ don't even mention it," Tattoo said and actually shuddered. Leslie sighed and looked at Roarke, who shrugged and smiled a little…

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

"I'm assuming he never saw Leslie grant a fantasy," Christian said curiously.

"No, she's tried it only the once," Roarke said, "when she granted Myeko Okada her fantasy…"

"And I heard you disapproved heartily," Christian put in with a wicked little grin that got a giggle from Michiko. "Clearly she succeeded quite nicely, since Nick and Myeko are still happy together."

"Maybe she just got tired of waiting for you to offer to let her do it," added Michiko. "Myeko told me the story of how she and Nick met, and she said she and Leslie both wondered why you were so adamantly against her doing it. She told us stories of Tattoo's attempts to grant fantasies, and she mentioned one weekend that you practically handed Julie a fantasy on a silver platter. I think she was feeling a little bit resentful, and took matters into her own hands after Myeko asked her."

Roarke gave her a look, turned it on a very unrepentant Christian who just smirked back, and finally laughed in resignation. "Even I had to admit in the end that she did a fine job of matchmaking," he said with good humor, "not only in the case of the Okadas but also with seven or eight other couples." He thought back a little. "It almost seemed at the time that she was working against me…but she has also been fiercely protective of me, in her way. At one time we had a guest here whose ultimate fantasy was to see me killed, and hired several people to make the attempt clandestinely while she was competing in an island pentathlon. She stated her intentions very plainly up-front, and in so doing earned Leslie's instant enmity. What's more, Leslie didn't hesitate to show her animosity…"


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- March 12, 1983

"…Then why don't we talk about the real reason you came to Fantasy Island?" Roarke said point-blank. He was seated on the sofa beside Vanessa Walgren while Leslie and Tattoo, in the nearby chairs, looked on; they looked at each other and both leaned forward to listen intently.

Vanessa's expression turned cold. "All right, let's." They all saw her gaze go to a small framed photograph of a handsome, rugged-looking dark-haired man with a mustache, holding a tennis racket over his shoulder and wearing a half-smile. "That's my husband, Michael. He came here a month ago to have a fantasy…and died."

The name rang a bell with Tattoo. "Michael Walgren, the tennis pro?" That in turn awoke Leslie's memory, and she bit her lip, remembering the uproar everyone on staff had been in for more than a week. It had been a wonder business had gone on as usual.

Roarke nodded confirmation. "Yes, Tattoo, Mr. Walgren's fantasy was to repeat the famous Kon-Tiki voyage." To Vanessa he said, "I warned him of the dangers of sailing the high sea on a raft."

"You warned him?" she repeated in disbelief. "What did you do to protect him?"

"The storm that moved in and destroyed his raft was unpredictable. We sent out a rescue party immediately, of course, but it was too late. I am deeply sorry."

"I don't want apologies," Vanessa said in a hard voice. "I want answers."

"I wish I could give you some, but I'm afraid it's impossible," Roarke replied quietly, his tone regretful. He looked at the photo again. "It was a terrible tragedy."

"Tragedy? I think there's a cover-up going on. The police won't investigate—I tried that." She scowled blackly.

"I assure you," Roarke said, "you are wrong. That's all I can say."

She sat back, gave him a frigid, narrow-eyed glare and a nod, then got up and stalked toward the indoor terrace. "Well. Then what I came here to do won't be so difficult after all," she said, arms akimbo. Leslie sat up straight and Tattoo's gaze grew sharp and watchful; but she was focused on Roarke. "As far as I'm concerned, you murdered him, and you're going to pay." She stepped forward, leaned over so that she was on his seated eye level, and said, "I've put a bounty on your head of a million dollars."

That was too much for Tattoo. "Boss, let me call the police right away." He turned to pick up the phone, but Roarke stopped him.

"No, don't…don't, Tattoo," he said, earning a stunned look from Tattoo. Leslie, for her part, couldn't seem to keep her shocked stare off Vanessa Walgren. "Mrs. Walgren," Roarke went on as Tattoo reluctantly hung up the phone, "I know you feel tremendous grief and anger. You obviously loved your husband very much. But if you could just wait until this weekend is over…"

She stood up and informed him implacably, "The bounty is on."

Roarke slowly got to his feet, watching her carefully. "Very well," he said coolly, "I accept the challenge…on the condition that, if I am still alive when the weekend is over, you promise to give up any further ideas of revenge and go home."

She nodded. "Agreed."

"Thank you," Roarke replied quietly. "Will you excuse me." He started briskly for the door; Tattoo threw his hands into the air in astonishment and followed, casting a scowl over his shoulder at Vanessa Walgren even as Roarke prompted, "Tattoo…Leslie."

Tattoo made an urgent _come-on_ gesture at Leslie, but she took her time standing up, all the while glaring at Vanessa Walgren with blazing eyes. Behind her, Roarke walked out the door without looking back; Tattoo paused just within the doorway and waited as angry as Vanessa as anyone else, but anxious to get Leslie out of her sight.

"I promise you," Leslie suddenly told Vanessa Walgren in a low, furious tone that shook ever so slightly, "if you succeed in killing my guardian, _I'll_ put a bounty on _your_ head. And then maybe you'll know just what it feels like to be the target of blind, unreasoning hatred!" She whipped around and stalked toward the door without waiting for a reply, and Tattoo hastily backpedaled out the door to keep from being mowed down. He shot Vanessa one last look before yanking the door shut.

No one spoke on the way back to the main house; Leslie's temper was at such a boil that Tattoo was afraid to say anything to her, while Roarke didn't even appear to notice her rage at all. When they did arrive, all he said was, "We had better change our clothing for the first competition." Tattoo sighed loudly and detoured to his own car to make the trip to his cottage so he could do so. Leslie and Roarke walked into the house in a heavy silence, which he broke only when they were inside.

"Why didn't you come out with Tattoo and me?" he asked.

Leslie only shook her head. "What right does she have to call out a vendetta on you, Mr. Roarke?" she demanded. "And what's more, why are you letting her get away with it? I have to tell you…I'm so fed up with people trying to get their little piece of you or the island. That Douglas Picard last year, with his prehistoric deed to the island, claiming it was really his. Then that sadistic madman Frank Barton a few weeks later. And last November, that TV reporter trying to prove a claim of fraudulence. Now we've got this woman who wants you dead…_and you're letting her try to kill you!"_ Her voice rose to a nearly hysterical shout. "I'm sick and tired of these crazy people coming here and threatening you and this island and everything that means anything to you and me and Tattoo! Why can't they just accept the vagaries of life and get on with theirs…and why can't you make them do it?" She turned and raced up the stairs, ignoring his sharp calls for her to come back…

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

"_Herregud,"_ Christian said, fascinated. "I've seen hints of her temper, to be sure…but for her to reveal it in that manner…" He shook his head; Michiko, too, was wide-eyed.

"How did you find out that Leslie threatened the woman that way?" she asked.

"Tattoo told me, after I insisted that he do so," Roarke said and smiled reminiscently. "She was very angry, very upset, and she was correct about the various 'guests' who all seemed to have some sinister agenda. However, later I gave her an opportunity to think about her words. I had barely beaten a skilled swordsman by the name of Henri Ducette, whom Ms. Walgren had paid to attempt to kill me…"

"I've heard of him," Christian broke in with surprise. "When I was thirteen I took fencing lessons, and that man was a hero of mine during those days, till I gave up fencing because it wasn't quite as swashbuckling as the movies made it appear to be. He was fairly well-known in Europe, but I seem to recall that around 1983 he disappeared from the public arena."

Roarke nodded. "Indeed he did, and that's because he was jailed for his attempt on my life. I had received a minor injury in the course of my duel with Mr. Ducette…"

§ § § -- March 12, 1983

"Don't you think we should take him to the hospital?" Tattoo demanded.

Leslie started, brought to sudden attention, and nodded hard. "I'll drive," she said, badly frightened at the look on Roarke's face. "I think he's in shock."

But Roarke, focusing on her, suddenly shook his head. "No, that won't be necessary," he said, his voice husky from exertion. "Just take Tattoo home and then we'll go back to the main house, Leslie. It's only a surface wound." Her face cleared at that and she relaxed visibly.

"But you're bleeding like crazy!" Tattoo protested incredulously.

"Superficial flesh wounds bleed a lot, Tattoo," Leslie said, surprising both him and Roarke with the knowledge. "My sister Kelly was constantly getting scraped up, and she used to bleed all over the place, but when Mom got it cleaned up it always turned out to be something minor. Does it hurt a lot, Mr. Roarke?"

"Oh, I expect I'll be sore in that spot for some time to come," Roarke admitted, pressing his hand against the area and wincing slightly. "But there's no real damage. Come, now, we're through here for tonight. Tattoo, my friend, please don't keep yourself awake the entire night fretting. All three of us will need to be alert and refreshed for tomorrow, and lack of sleep is not at all conducive to that."

"I'll try, boss, but you know how I am," Tattoo said, finally getting a faint smile from Roarke. "Okay, let's go home, and Leslie, you take good care of him."

She grinned suddenly. "Depends on what kind of patient he is," she said, and they shared a quiet laugh. "I could use some sleep, and I know you could, Mr. Roarke."

By the time she had helped Roarke clean and bandage the small wound, she had grown pensive again and stopped her guardian in the upstairs hallway. "I'm starting to think Vanessa Walgren is a little disturbed in the head, just like that Frank Barton," she told him. "She's so cold to you…no sympathy at all. And you know, she seems a bit like a coward to me. She's willing to pay others to do her own dirty work."

Roarke sighed deeply, reached out and slowly combed back some of her hair with his fingers, in a very fatherly gesture that made her smile. "Tell me something, Leslie," he said after a long pause, "what exactly are your feelings toward her?"

She stared at him, plainly brought up short by the question. After some consideration she admitted, "My off-the-cuff answer was going to be hatred—sheer, overwhelming hatred and fury at her for what she's trying to do. But I suppose that would be stooping to her level, wouldn't it?" Her gaze broke and she stared into space, thinking; knowing her last question had been rhetorical, Roarke waited patiently. "I told her this morning that if she managed to kill you, I was going to put a bounty on her so she'd see what it felt like," she finally said in a small voice. "I guess that was pretty stupid." She waited, as if expecting Roarke to comment; but he was silent, and at last she looked up hesitantly. "But I don't think it affected her one bit. In fact, she probably laughed her head off when we were gone. What's a seventeen-year-old girl going to do to her?"

"That seventeen-year-old was showing her love and loyalty, that's all," Roarke said gently, smiling. "There is still a ferocious anger in you, Leslie, and I believe that what fueled your outburst this morning can be traced to something that lies much deeper within you, something you still aren't ready to face."

"You mean…how I feel about Michael Hamilton?" Leslie asked.

Roarke nodded. "I do understand your anger and resentment of Mrs. Walgren, and yes, your fear of her as well. She does present the façade of a cold and unfeeling woman, but it's a front: she is acting out of enormous grief and rage. Such emotions can drive us to do things we would normally never consider."

"But she's letting it get out of her control now," Leslie said. "I guess we're all going to have some battle scars by the time this weekend is over."

"Both inside and out," Roarke agreed wryly, glancing at his bandage, and he and Leslie both laughed softly. "Enough for now. Let's get some sleep, and perhaps tomorrow will make things seem a little better."

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

"How well I understand her feelings," Christian murmured, thinking of the times Leslie had flared up in his defense. "There was a day during our honeymoon when she told me exactly how deeply she loathed Michael Hamilton for his murder of her mother and sisters, and I found myself thinking that this must be the source of her hatred of all miscarriages of justice—not to mention her ambivalence about revenge, which I myself sometimes have a softer attitude toward than I should." He smiled a bit sheepishly. "But have no fear, Mr. Roarke, I think both of us have mellowed with age."

Michiko burst out laughing, with Roarke's baritone chuckle providing contrast. "Frankly, I think that since Leslie got to send Hamilton's soul to the devil and you finally got to marry her, as you wanted so badly to do, your happiness has made you feel benevolent toward the world in general. Listen, I have one more for you, actually. Sometimes it comes back to me and makes me wonder if there was supposed to be some cosmic connection going on—a reason that Leslie and I have been such close friends since her first day of school here. It happened at that same New Year's party where Mr. Roarke later caught her saying goodbye to the old year. People were still gathering for the party, and she had the chance to meet some more of my family…"

§ § § -- December 31, 1979

A few merrymakers had already arrived and were chatting, some with tropical drinks in their hands, waiting for the food tables to be ready. Of Leslie's friends, only Michiko and her family were there; this included her father, sheriff of Amberville, as well as her mother, Miyoshi, her brother Toki and her ten-year-old sister Reiko, the youngest Tokita. Saburo, 28, and Kayoko, 26, both lived off the island now, and Kayoko had been married that past October; but they too had come back to join their family for the celebrations, Kayoko accompanied by her Hawaiian-born, Japanese-descent husband Kiichiro Matsuda.

Michiko and Leslie greeted each other, and Michiko introduced Leslie to her oldest brother and sister as well as her brother-in-law. Kayoko studied her with interest. "So you're the girl Mr. Roarke took in!" she said. "You know…I think I…" She hesitated, clearly trying to remember something.

"What's the matter, Yoko?" Kiichiro asked, taking her hand.

"I was just thinking back to when I was one of Mr. Roarke's guest assistants," Kayoko said slowly. "After Michiko told me about her new friend Leslie last spring, I started to think there was something familiar about her name. I think I have it…Leslie, was your mother's name Shannon?"

"Yes!" Leslie exclaimed, very surprised. "How'd you know?"

"I was her escort back and forth between her bungalow and the main house," Kayoko told her, making her eyes pop. "I was just twelve then, but Mother relied on me for a lot of babysitting because she was pregnant with Michiko and Toki was only a year old. There was something about your mother, Leslie, that for some reason I never quite forgot. She was very close to giving birth to you, and it's quite seldom that women so near their due dates are allowed to travel. Perhaps that's why I remember her. She was very anxious, Leslie, very worried about what would happen to you." She smiled sympathetically at Leslie's look of wonder, seeing the sheen glistening in the younger girl's eyes. "I think she loved you very much, and I can see you miss her desperately."

Leslie nodded slightly, and they could see her trying to imagine what her mother must have looked like then and what she must have been thinking and feeling. Kayoko's little story had clearly given her an extra insight into her mother's purpose. "I'm glad you told me about my mother," she said softly. "Thank you, Kayoko."

Kayoko's smile lingered. "You're welcome, Leslie. Think of it this way—your mother loved you enough to entrust you to the best possible person she could. I think it's a lovely legacy…"

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

"What a coincidence, huh?" Michiko said, noting Christian's astonished look. "I don't know how much destiny may have had to do with it, but I was as astounded as Leslie when my sister told her that story. It made me think that maybe we were fated to be friends. And even if fate wasn't involved, I still cherish that memory."

"I can see that," Christian said softly. "She had a great deal to adjust to in a short time. To have that kind of connection with her mother…" He stopped, closed his eyes and sat silently for a moment; Roarke and Michiko watched him with concern. After several minutes Christian looked up once more and said, "It must have taken her a long time to become accustomed to your powers and abilities."

"Occasionally she continues to be startled by them," Roarke said in amusement. "However, in general she absorbed revelations with surprising alacrity. Perhaps this incident will illustrate my meaning…"

§ § § -- January 14, 1980

Roarke left Lisa Corday at her bungalow and drove back to the main house, where a single light burned in the study. Propped against the lamp was a note in Tattoo's handwriting: _Boss, Leslie's asleep and I've gone home. The Collier fantasy turned out OK and I think Leslie's finally calmed down. See you tomorrow morning—Tattoo._ Roarke chuckled softly and started to turn out the light, but caught himself when he heard soft, hesitant footfalls on the steps. He froze for a moment, smiled wryly to himself and spoke without moving. "You may as well come down, Leslie. I told you I wouldn't be upset if you stayed up waiting for my return, remember?"

Her footsteps thudded rapidly down the stairs then, and he turned around in time to catch her as she threw herself into his arms. "Mr. Roarke! I'm so glad you're home!"

"Indeed," he said with a laugh. "Did you find the weekend that trying?"

"More than you know," she said, sobering. "I was worried about you and that was bad enough, but that Danny Collier got himself into so much trouble…and that awful friend of his! That Ken Jason is the biggest jerk I ever saw in my life!"

Roarke laughed again. "Gracious, Leslie, it seems you've been under a fair amount of stress. Will it make you feel better to tell me about it?"

She nodded vigorously and launched into a description of the weekend as it had unfolded once he had left for the castle with Lisa Corday. Roarke listened attentively, nodding every so often, and led her up to her room about halfway through her narrative so that she could go directly to sleep when she was done. When she ran out of words, she sat down heavily on her bed, bouncing a couple of times on the mattress. "I'm just glad it's all over. What really happened at that castle, Mr. Roarke? Or am I forbidden to ask?"

Roarke smiled and sat down beside her. "Lest I give you nightmares again, young lady, suffice it to say for now that it was necessary for me to battle the spirit of a woman who wanted to come back to life. She was someone I knew a very long time ago, and she has now found peace and eternal rest."

Leslie considered these words, put them together with the description Roarke had given her and Tattoo on Saturday morning and came up with a sum that made no sense to her. "But Mr. Roarke… you said that woman lived four hundred years ago! How could you have known her?"

He regarded her with a smile but said nothing, only watching her as her brain worked overtime, her thoughts revealing themselves in her face. She ran the gamut of emotion all the way from disbelief to astonishment to awe, the last of which brought on a sudden attack of shyness as she realized what he must really be capable of. Stricken speechless now, she studied his handsome features but drew back just slightly, as if hit by some new fear. To his own surprise, Roarke felt a sense of loss and frowned ever so slightly, returning her wide-eyed scrutiny with his own solemn one.

"Even I am only a man, Leslie," he said at last, very gently.

She blinked at him rapidly several times, as if he had startled her out of some reverie, then slowly shook her head. "No," she said, "you're Mr. Roarke."

Faint amusement glimmered from his dark eyes and their brows rose. "Aside from stating the obvious, what precisely do you mean by that?"

Leslie leaned in toward him now, contemplating him quite seriously. The sense of overwhelmed awe he had felt emanating from her gradually abated, and she finally smiled. "All it means is that you're unique and different, and you can do things nobody else can, and you've seen things and been places and done stuff that no one else alive ever has, or can." She cleared her throat, turned pinkish in the light from her bedside lamp, and concluded, "You're special."

"I could say the same of you," Roarke teased, "but I wouldn't want you to get a swelled head." Caught off guard by his deliberate mood change, she drew back and stared at him, then abruptly giggled.

"Okay, Mr. Roarke, I guess I get the picture," she said. "It's just that I didn't know…and I guess I kind of needed to get used to the whole idea. You know, the better I get to know you, the luckier I feel that I get to live here and be part of all this."

Roarke smiled, smoothed back her hair and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm glad you feel that way," he said. "Now…I suggest we leave it at this and get some sleep. You do have school tomorrow, and I assume you'd like to bid our guests goodbye in the morning."

"No, I'd never want to miss out on that." Leslie grinned. "Like I said, Mr. Roarke, I'm glad you're back. Good night." She stretched forward and kissed his cheek, and he smiled at her once more before bidding her good night in return, watching her slip beneath the covers, and then turning out her lamp and leaving the room.

§ § § -- June 2, 2004

Christian was about to comment on this tale when Dr. Giese, looking quite tired, came into the waiting room and glanced around. "Ah, Mr. Enstad," she said and smiled. "I have good news. Mrs. Enstad is doing better. She is still unconscious, but the depth of that unconsciousness has lightened. If you would like to see her—"

"As a matter of fact," Christian said, "I intend to remain with her as long as it takes. I don't want her to awaken alone and wonder if she's been abandoned. Is she still in the same room where the triplets were born?"

"Yes, she is," said Dr. Giese, "but are you very sure you want to remain here through the night? It may be tomorrow before she awakens."

"That doesn't matter," said Christian. "I want to be there when it happens. Just make sure there's a chair for me, and I'll be fine."

"Very well, if that's your wish," Dr. Giese agreed and suddenly smiled. "I hope Mrs. Enstad knows and appreciates what a devoted husband she has. Congratulations on your three new children, Your Highness." She curtsied at the astonished Christian and ducked back into the corridor, and Roarke and Michiko both began to laugh.

Christian had to laugh himself. "Just when I thought I'd gotten away with not being recognized," he said cheerfully. "Thank you both for helping to keep my spirits up—I truly appreciate the time and effort you both put forth."

"We were happy to do it," Michiko assured him. "I'm at my parents' house and I think Leslie knows the number there. Call tomorrow, okay?" Christian nodded and she departed with a quick word of farewell to Roarke.

"I think I had better go home as well," Roarke said. "I would stay, but as always, business must be attended to, and I know my daughter is in the best possible hands as long as you're by her side. Just remember to call when there's a significant change." Christian nodded once more and watched Roarke leave, then turned and pushed through the doors, half jogging down the corridor to Leslie's room.

The lights had been turned off; there was a small nightlight glowing unobtrusively in the corner of the room, and by its gentle illumination Christian could see three small hospital bassinets, each containing a baby. In the bed lay Leslie, still and silent; he thought her face seemed pale, but she looked peaceful. Christian, somewhat reassured, let his eyes adjust fully to the dimness in the room and then stole over to get his first really good look at his children. _My children,_ he thought, the phrase sitting strangely with him. He was nearly forty-six and had been so accustomed to being childless that to suddenly be the father of three was enough to make him feel that the rug had been tugged out from beneath him and then put back facing the wrong direction. He had to smile at the idea.

There was a small placard taped to the end of each bassinet to indicate which baby was which. Christian spent a moment studying the face of each infant—the first girl, who had so stunned him and Leslie when they'd gotten their initial look at her; the second girl, who looked like a clone of the first; and finally the boy, who even at only hours old was still clearly of different facial features from his sisters. _Hello, my little son,_ he thought. _Whatever your name is going to be, I welcome you into the world, into my life and our family. I think I'll suggest to your mother that we give you a good royal name. Perhaps Grandfather's…_ Christian smiled, tentatively reached out and ever so lightly stroked his son's cheek, marveling at how smooth the skin was. Wondering if his son's sisters were the same, he stroked their cheeks once apiece as well, amazed all over again. He moved then to the side of the bed where a chair had been placed and settled himself into it. Reaching for Leslie's hand, he gently squeezed it, then half arose to whisper near her ear.

"Leslie, my darling, I don't know if you can hear me, but I want you to know how much I love you. The babies are here with us, my Rose, and I'm here too—I'll be here all night, and you'll see me when you wake. I won't leave your side." He kissed her cheek; her head moved a little as he pressed his lips to her skin, but she didn't respond and he sighed softly. "You must come back to us, my darling. Our children need names, and I need your help with that. I'll be right here waiting." He resumed his seat, made himself as comfortable as he could—which wasn't much—and held onto her hand until somehow sleep claimed him and he relaxed limply in the chair.

Within two hours one of the babies awoke and set up a tiny, thin wail, so small and wispy that Christian didn't stir from his sleep at all. A nurse appeared within a moment, checked on the infant and changed a diaper, glanced at the child's parents, then gently laid the baby back in the bassinet. She left the door slightly ajar, allowing the Enstad family to sleep peacefully on.


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- June 3, 2004

Leslie blinked, stared blearily at the wall opposite her and the door that stood open a little, and wondered vaguely what time it was and where on earth she must be. A twinge from her abdomen reminded her then that she had given birth, and she blinked rapidly a few times with astonishment. There was still a rise beneath the covers where her middle was rounded out, but it was already substantially smaller than she'd become used to seeing it. She glanced to her left and noted the three bassinets in a row on that side of the bed, and then wondered where Christian was. _He promised not to leave me… _ "Christian?" she said, surprised at how weak and scratchy her voice was. It brought home to her the realization that she had dry throat and was desperately thirsty.

She heard the creak of a chair at her right as a body started and shifted within it, and found enough strength to turn her head. She watched her husband for a moment while he fell still and sank back into slumber, then smiled. "Christian, my love," she tried again, her voice still rough but slightly louder.

This time she got through to him; he bolted awake, sat up and gave her a second's worth of very anxious stare before it registered that she was conscious. Then he lit up like a chandelier. "Leslie, my Rose!" he breathed, springing from the chair, wincing when quite a few muscles protested the abrupt change in position and then settling onto the bed. Leslie grinned up at him.

"Did you sleep like that all night?" she asked. Her voice caught in her irritated throat and she coughed; Christian took her hand and squeezed it.

"I must have been there for some time," he said, nodding. "My neck and back hurt, and my legs have cramps. I'm too old to sleep in a chair." He chuckled and focused on her, returning her smile. "You don't know how relieving and wonderful it is to see you wake up. You gave us rather a scare, you know."

For a moment Leslie didn't know what he was talking about; then she recalled those last few moments after the birth of the last triplet, her lightheaded feeling and the sounds of voices, Christian's desperate plea with her just before she'd blacked out. "I'm sure I did," she said. "What happened to me?"

"You suffered something called uterine inversion," Christian said and explained it to her, making her eyes go wide. He regarded her with slightly narrowed eyes, scanning her from head to navel and back, then asked, "How do you feel right now?"

"Sore, and totally worn out," Leslie admitted. "The last triplet was a boy, right?"

"Exactly so," Christian said with a nod, chuckling softly again. "They need names."

"I know, you told me so last night," she said without thinking.

Christian stared at her. "You heard me? I'd heard theories that people in comas can sometimes hear those who speak to them, but something in me didn't quite believe."

"I must have heard something," Leslie mused. "I have a distinct memory of you telling me you needed my help with naming the babies. So…what should we do? Are we really any closer to picking names for them than we were before they got here?"

"I doubt it," Christian said with rueful amusement. "Although you mentioned having a dream about your mother saying she expected us to name a girl after her and Mother…"

Leslie giggled. "That's true," she croaked and winced. "I need something to drink."

"Wait right there," Christian said and got to his feet, stretching various limbs as he crossed the room and leaned out the door. She saw him signal at someone, and a moment later a nurse came in and brightened at sight of Leslie.

"Good morning, Mrs. Enstad! It's very good to see you awake," she said. "What can I get for you?"

"Some juice, if that's okay," Leslie said, then glanced at the babies. "And…um…what about feeding the triplets? I'm planning to breast-feed, but…"

The nurse smiled. "Let me go and get Dr. Hannaford. It's not quite nine o'clock, but she and Dr. Giese both slept here in case you happened to wake up during the night. I'll be right back with something for both of you. Coffee, Mr. Enstad?"

"Please," Christian said, and the nurse left. Christian resumed his seat on the side of Leslie's bed. "So obviously we both slept through the night, then. Well, then, do you think we should take your mother's dream advice?"

Leslie grinned at him. "I told the girls last week that as much as I loved Mom, her name isn't exactly in my personal top ten. We could call one of the girls Susanna Shannon."

"I'm flattered, and I expect Mother would have been equally so, but somehow the rhythm of Shannon Susanna sounds better to me," Christian said, a grin splitting his features when Leslie began to shake her head before he was finished speaking. "Hmm…how are we to settle this one, then?"

Leslie gave him an impish look and said, "Do you have some change in your pocket? We might as well flip a coin." Laughing, Christian dug into one pocket and extracted a quarter, which he flipped once Leslie had called a side. It came down in her favor, and with that, they decided to name their oldest triplet Susanna Shannon Enstad.

Then Christian cleared his throat. "I came in last night to stay with you," he said, "and got my first really good look at all three babies. I had to get an especially good look at our son…I suppose that's the nature of a father, to be drawn to a son. Not that I'll love the girls any less, but I'm very glad we had one boy. Anyhow, I thought he deserved a royal-sounding name, and decided I'd see what you think of the idea of naming him after my grandfather."

Leslie cast back for the _jordisk_ history she knew and focused curiously on him. "You'd like to name him Lukas?" When he nodded, she cleared her own throat, winced when it aggravated the scratchy sensation, and snorted quietly to herself before forging on. "I don't mind, I guess, but I sort of wanted to…" She hesitated.

"Tell me," Christian urged gently.

"Well, I've just been thinking. Maybe we could name him Tobias Lukas Roarke Enstad," Leslie said, watching him. "I know it's a mouthful for a little guy, but we can always call him Toby."

Christian stared at her. "I thought we agreed—no juniors!"

"He won't be a junior, my darling," Leslie said. "The only way he'd be a junior is to name him Christian Carl Tobias Enstad the second, or something. He'll have one of your names, yes, but not the one you're known by. There won't be any confusion between you and your son, so what do you think?"

Christian considered it, murmured it aloud. "Tobias Lukas Roarke Enstad…Toby for short." He started to grin. "Toby Enstad?"

"You don't like it?" Leslie asked. "We don't have to call him Toby. Maybe if we messed around with the name order…Lukas Tobias Roarke Enstad, and he could be called Lukas. But I like the name Toby."

Christian looked dubious. "Perhaps he could be Toby while he's a child. But I have a feeling there will be a day when he'll come to us and ask that we and everyone else call him Tobias from that point on. I thought last night that he deserved a royal name. Just because Tobias is one of my names doesn't make it royal enough for everyday use. And think if I were to get my title back, if Gabriella's motion to repeal that law passes. The children would automatically get titles as well—and 'Prince Toby' sounds simply ridiculous!"

"But 'Prince Tobias' doesn't," Leslie protested, at which point Dr. Hannaford and Dr. Giese came in, followed by the nurse with a mug of coffee for Christian and a glass of white grape juice for Leslie. They both accepted with thanks, and the nurse departed while the two doctors grinned at Leslie.

"Arguing over names, are we?" Dr. Hannaford asked, and Christian and Leslie both nodded, laughing softly. She joined in. "Frankly, Mrs. Enstad, you can't imagine how good it is to see you awake to be able to do that. You had an inverted uterus yesterday after the triplets were all born, and it took a little longer than we thought to clear out all the placental material, so you had time to slide into shock and pass out. Just as well you did, since we had to do a little pushing to get your uterus back into place. How are you feeling?"

"Weak and sore," Leslie said.

Dr. Giese nodded. "That would be normal after what you've been through. You lost a lot of blood during that little emergency. It's very good to see you awake and talking."

"It's very good to _be_ awake and talking," countered Leslie with a smirk, and both doctors laughed. "When we've decided what to name the babies, how do we make it official? We've already settled on one, and we're trying to choose a boy's name."

"There are forms at the registration desk to fill out so that town hall in Amberville can make out birth certificates and give you and your husband copies to keep," Dr. Hannaford told her. "I'll go and get three of them and fill in the vital stats, and then you two can write in the baby's name and sign each form. Be right back." She went out, and Dr. Giese looked over the triplets, who were all asleep.

"The nurses tell me that these three mostly slept, but they did need changing once or twice during the night," she remarked. "Mrs. Enstad, if you're planning to breast-feed, this would be the best time to start establishing the procedure. You'll have to learn how to hold the two that you'll be feeding, how to make sure they get adequate milk, and how to care for yourself between feedings. And I warn you, you'll be sore for a while until you grow accustomed to it. I hope you are prepared for that."

Leslie nodded. "Dr. Hannaford explained it to me, and I've read up on it too. I know what to expect. I think the convenience will be worth it, even though we'll still have to have bottles so we can feed all three at once—Christian's going to feed whichever triplet isn't at the breast at a given session. It'll help him bond with the babies too."

"That's an excellent plan," said Dr. Giese, nodding. "Do you have someone else to help you? Even with both of you caring for them, three babies are a great deal of work."

"One of my nieces came out here to help, and brought a servant along with her," said Christian. "So we have plenty of assistance. I'm taking the summer away from work, and I think it will be quite an experience."

"Those triplets won't know for many years just how lucky they really are," Dr. Giese remarked, eyeing them with approval. "You two have things planned out, and you have the resources to give them as much of your time as possible in their earliest days. I congratulate both of you and wish you all the very best."

Dr. Hannaford returned with the forms, and Leslie took them with thanks; then both doctors spent the next fifteen minutes demonstrating breast-feeding and explaining that it would probably be another day or so before her milk actually came in. Christian watched carefully, got a lesson in properly holding a baby when all three triplets came awake at once, and to his surprise was first to actually feed one. As it happened, he was holding their still-nameless son, and the look on his face as he gingerly cradled the infant and held the bottle for him made tears fill Leslie's eyes. The doctors indulged her for a moment, then helped settle the two girls into a position in which Leslie could most easily breast-feed them at the same time—lying in a "football carry" position, resting on two pillows that took the babies' weight so that Leslie could concentrate on feeding them rather than supporting them. Their son didn't take much milk, and the girls didn't get very much from Leslie either, even the fluid that preceded the arrival of breast milk; but the doctors assured Christian and Leslie that this was perfectly normal, and suggested they just hold the babies for a while and get to know them, now that they were awake.

They slipped out as Christian arose with their son and resettled himself on the side of Leslie's bed, bringing their whole family together. The babies stared almost blindly up at their parents, who studied them with great interest and any number of intrigued comments about eye color, sparseness and color of hair, miniature fingers and toes, and facial features. Their soft voices seemed to catch the babies' attention, almost as if the triplets were listening to them, and Leslie grinned at their rapt alertness. "Maybe they can't see us very well, but they must know our voices. They've heard us all the time I was pregnant with them."

Christian nodded, amused. "Yes, I think they're listening to us talk!" They laughed softly and shared a kiss before returning their attention to their children.

"Well, you three, your daddy and I have been trying to find good names for you," Leslie said to the babies, feeling a little silly, a little whimsical and a lot eager to cement her bond with the infants. "I bet you girls will be playing all kinds of tricks on us as you get older, since you're identical."

"Which is the older one?" Christian asked.

Leslie shifted a little in order to brace the pillows on her knees, then lifted each girl's wrist and checked the ID bands fastened to them. "This one here on my left is the older. So your name's going to be Susanna Shannon Enstad." She smiled at the first triplet, running a tentative finger slowly and lightly across baby Susanna's cheek. "You're named for your late grandmothers, and they were both wonderful ladies who would've loved you and your sister and brother."

"Who both need names as well," Christian reminded her, and Leslie grinned.

"Okay, okay, you nag," she teased him, making him snicker. "We were in the process of trying to name this young man, here. If you don't want to call him Tobias or Toby, then I can live with that. I guess I'm trying to figure out whether you really like the name Lukas, or if you just want him to bear your grandfather's name. Besides, isn't one of Carl Johan's names Lukas, too? I've always wondered why royalty finds it necessary to re-use the same names, especially male names, over and over and over again."

Christian looked slightly blindsided. "Well, we don't have to call him Lukas…"

Leslie giggled and said, "Sorry, my love, I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I don't know how we're ever going to resolve this. You want Lukas and I want Tobias…"

Christian frowned slightly; Leslie caught the movement and watched him. After a moment he said slowly, "I always rather liked the name Stefan. Or possibly Stellan, which seems a little more modern. But Stefan would probably translate better on an English-speaking island."

"Hmm," Leslie mused. "Stefan Enstad. What about Stefan Lukas Tobias Roarke…" Her voice trailed off and she rolled her eyes, eliciting a chortle from Christian. "Way too many names. Stellan doesn't sound like it goes with Enstad." Then something she recalled seeing in one of their name books crossed her mind and she turned to Christian. "What about Torin, or Torian? I saw those in a name book. They're Irish, according to that, but they sound reasonably Scandinavian, and they're original."

Christian stared dubiously at her. "I'd almost rather name him Tobias."

Leslie stared back, and they sat suspended for long enough that their smiles were very sheepish indeed when they broke out. "We have a very large problem," Leslie muttered and shook her head. "Maybe we should try naming our other daughter instead, for a while."

"All right," Christian said, but the way he said it made Leslie look askance at him; it sounded less like an agreement to her suggestion than a concession of some sort. "I don't want this to go on for days. I surrender. We'll call him Tobias—just so long as you refrain from the nickname Toby. I can live with Tobias, but not Toby."

Leslie offered gently, "Tobias Lukas Roarke Enstad, then?"

"Tobias Lukas Roarke Enstad," Christian agreed through a sigh. "I'll get used to it."

"But if you don't really like it—" Leslie began.

"I like Tobias fine," Christian interrupted, beginning to lose patience. "Leslie, please, don't prolong this anymore. It just wasn't something I had planned to name a son of mine, not that I'd really thought about it at all. As I said, all I ask is that we don't call him Toby."

"Okay, that I can handle," Leslie said, watching him a little warily. She wanted him to say he was very certain, but something told her he'd reached the end of his rope where their son's name was concerned. _Back off, Leslie,_ she told herself and smiled faintly. _If he likes the thing, then shut up and accept it!_ "Do you have any ideas for Susanna's and Tobias' sister?"

Christian thought about it, while Leslie mentally repeated her last sentence to herself, as if calling the babies by their newly chosen names made their presence seem more real. After a bit Christian said, "There are very few girls' names I like enough to give to a child of mine, but there is one that really appeals to me. At the risk of repeating names yet again, I thought we could call the other girl Karina, spelled with a K."

"That's really pretty!" Leslie said, eyes widening. "Why is it a repeat name?"

"It's one of the names Arnulf and Kristina gave Anna-Kristina when she was born," Christian explained. "Her full name is Anna-Kristina Maria Linda Karina Enstad Apana, if you can keep all that straight. But it's such a mouthful that even when someone was scolding her, we rarely referred to her by all her given names, so it's possible that even she has forgotten that Karina is one of them." They both laughed softly, and he added, "So you like it, then?" At her nod, he grinned. "Any other names you'd like to add?"

"It was my understanding that Noelle Tokita and Brianna Harding were going to school, very briefly anyway, with a little girl named Skye. I thought that was absolutely beautiful," Leslie said. "How does Karina Skye Enstad sound to you?"

Christian grinned again and said, "It sounds to me as if we've finally properly named our children." She giggled happily at that, and they kissed again; then Christian arose with Tobias in his arms and settled the sleeping baby into his bassinet. "Let me get a nurse in here so we can have the names transferred to the babies' wristbands—especially in the girls' cases, so that we don't mix them up."

Leslie looked down at Susanna and Karina, both of whom had drifted off to sleep again as well, and smiled a bit mistily. They and their brother were much too small and young yet for facial features to make themselves known, but she found herself hoping they'd all take on the Enstad features. "If you three all look like your father, you'll be blessed," she said very softly to her sleeping daughters, and watched Christian cross the room to signal a nurse, feeling like the luckiest female on earth.


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § -- June 3, 2004

The triplets were healthy and thriving, from all appearances; their Apgar scores at birth had all been satisfactorily high, and Dr. Giese remarked that she'd never seen such healthy triplets in all the time she'd been practicing. She did, however, feel that it might be wise for the babies to remain in the hospital for at least another day, so that the doctors could be completely certain they were ready to go home. Leslie herself was discharged that afternoon, and Christian drove them to the main house, fingers drumming on the wheel all the way there. "Christian, why are you fidgeting?" Leslie asked.

"It seems odd somehow to be leaving without the triplets," he said. "I suppose, though, that it will be our very last chance to be just the two of us, Christian and Leslie, without children. From now on there are three entities depending entirely on us."

"True," Leslie agreed, slanting him a glance. "Are you glad they're here?"

"Very much so," Christian said wholeheartedly, and Leslie relaxed, a sense of relief overtaking her. "I'll be 46 in three weeks, you know. Maybe it was time I became a father, after a lifetime of having only myself to worry about." He grinned and glanced at her, pulling to a stop in front of the walk leading to the veranda. "Besides, I know how very much you wanted to be a mother. I think you got far more than you probably bargained for."

Leslie had to laugh. "I did at that. Well, come on, let's go see Father."

Roarke looked up and brightened when they came in. "Sit down, both of you! Tell me about those babies. Have you finally named them?"

"We sure did. They're going to be Susanna Shannon, Karina Skye and Tobias Lukas Roarke," Leslie said, lowering herself into a chair with gingerly care and watching Roarke's face as she spoke. Roarke paused and studied her in astonishment.

"It was what Leslie wanted to do—honor you, the man who raised her," Christian said with a smile. "The man who's going to be their grandfather."

"You hardly needed do that, Leslie," Roarke said, faintly protesting. Leslie grinned; she had never seen him look overwhelmed, as he did now.

"I wanted to," she said. "We had a terrible time agreeing on our son's name, but giving him your name was never an issue. The Lukas is for Christian's grandfather, and I happened to like the name Tobias. Christian practically went ballistic, but honestly…it's not as if he makes much use of the name himself."

Christian sighed good-naturedly. "We may go around and around on that for a while to come," he observed, "but after all is said and done, I can't do anything else about it. It's the name we filled out on the form that will be filed in town hall and the name that will be on his birth certificate. Tobias he is and Tobias he will be…but I warned Leslie that I don't want anyone calling him Toby."

Roarke laughed and agreed, "Very well, Tobias it is. I can see that you named one of the girls for your respective mothers, but where does the other name come from?"

"Karina is one of Anna-Kristina's names, one of a bare few I like enough to give to a child of my own," Christian said. "Leslie chose Skye because she thought it was pretty."

"It is indeed," Roarke said. "Since you two are here without them, I presume they are yet in the hospital."

"Under observation," Leslie said, nodding. "But they figured I was healthy enough to go home, apparently even in spite of the inverted-uterus incident. I still feel kind of sore, and I guess I will for a good while yet, but I'm okay otherwise. If Christian and I go on home now, maybe we can sneak in some extra sleep before the triplets come home and we have to learn to subsist on catnaps."

"Before you leave here," Roarke said, "I might suggest that you contact your friends and bring them up to date. I've already had several calls here, and I have no doubt that Princess Margareta has intercepted any number of telephoned inquiries herself. Make your calls from here, then go on home and sleep as much as you can. Leslie, you had a very long and difficult day, and you should try to rest and recover to whatever extent you can before you take the triplets home. And Christian, since you will be a vital participant in their care, you may find it wise to relax and take things as easy as possible."

"That won't be difficult," Christian said. "I slept rather fitfully last night in that chair, and some of my muscles are still aching. Go ahead, my Rose, make a few calls."

In fairly short order Leslie contacted her friends and let them all know how the situation currently stood, as well as telling them what she and Christian had finally named the babies. She called Maureen last, and Maureen asked, "Do you two need anything before you hibernate? I know you have Christian's niece and her servant there, but they could have overlooked something. And Brianna is dying to see the babies."

Leslie giggled. "She'll just have to contain her excitement a little longer. I don't think they'll be coming home till tomorrow at the earliest, maybe not even then. Depends on what the doctors think. Thanks so much for offering—if we do need something we'll give you a call and let you know. For right now, we're okay."

"Good," said Maureen. "Then go home and get rested up. In another day or two, sleep will be worth three times its weight in gold." They both laughed, then said their goodbyes and hung up.

"All right, then," Christian murmured and yawned. "It's off home for us, then. If you feel so inclined, Mr. Roarke, perhaps they'll allow you in to see the triplets. It seems only fair to me that they learn to recognize their grandfather."

"Perhaps I'll do that," Roarke said and smiled. "Go and get some sleep, and thank you both for stopping here. If you need anything at all, let me know."

Leslie managed to fall asleep on the way home, and Christian, yawning constantly, envied her. When he pulled into their garage and parked the car, he found a little lighthearted revenge in gently shaking her awake. "Come on, my Rose, we're home," he said with a grin. "If you want to sleep in a proper bed, you'll have to walk—I won't carry you."

"Why not?" she retorted, squinting wearily at him. "I just had three babies!"

Laughing, Christian kissed her. "Oh no you don't, Leslie Enstad! I grant you they put you in a wheelchair to check you out of the hospital, but you walked quite willingly into Mr. Roarke's house and then back out to the car again. It's too late to claim childbirth-induced infirmity." He laughed harder at the exaggerated pout she affected. "Tell you what, I'll let you lean on me, but that's as good as it gets."

"You're a slave driver," Leslie said, a grin of her own playing at her lips.

"I'm exhausted and my muscles are strained from trying to sleep in a wicker papasan chair," Christian shot back, finally making her giggles break out. "Look, believe me, I want to lie down on a nice comfortable mattress as much as you do, perhaps more—after all, you had the benefit of the bed last night. Let's get inside and update Margareta."

The sun was playing hide-and-seek with gradually increasing clouds, they noticed as they emerged from the garage, so Christian reached up and pulled the door closed, groaning loudly for effect as he did so and making his wife laugh again. They ambled across the driveway, up the walk and into the house—where they stopped short in startled amazement at the sight of four laundry baskets sitting in the foyer, all filled with baby clothes.

Margareta must have heard them come in, for she came hurriedly into the living room and laughed at her aunt's and uncle's flabbergasted looks. "Your friends appeared through the evening yesterday and dropped these off," she told them, "and even left notes so you'd know who was here." She did a sudden double-take. _"Herregud,_ Uncle Christian and Aunt Leslie, you forgot to bring the babies home!"

Christian and Leslie laughed again. "No, we didn't forget—they wouldn't let us," Leslie explained. "They'll probably come home tomorrow or the next day. The doctors wanted to be sure all three of them are healthy enough to come home."

"Ah, I see," Margareta said. "Then it will give Ingrid more time to complete cleaning the babies' rooms and the bathroom they're using. I insisted she scrub everything so that it sparkles. Those triplets are _not_ coming home to dirty rooms."

"She doesn't have to sterilize the place, Magga," Christian informed her dryly. "Don't push her quite so hard. Cleaning is fine; steaming the germs to death is overkill. If you work her that hard, soon we'll have to find a servant for the servant."

Margareta shrugged. "She's accustomed to hard work," she said dismissively. "It's what she expected to do when she agreed to come here. I just wish she knew English; she's no help at all with grocery shopping, and I've never really done it."

"I know," Christian muttered, rolling his eyes. His niece was competent enough, but when it came to groceries, she was hopeless. He'd had to accompany her every time she did their shopping. "Well, I do have one idea in any case. School has just let out for the summer, and I might be able to bring in a high-school student to help with that sort of thing so that you can learn to help care for the babies and Ingrid can do the cleaning chores. I'll have to call around and see if any of our friends have suggestions."

"What's available in the kitchen right now?" Leslie wanted to know.

Margareta goose-stepped over two of the laundry baskets to check cabinets and the refrigerator. "We'll have to go soon, perhaps later today," she said.

"We're sleeping later today," Christian told her. "We've been advised, by quite a few sources who should know, that we'd better get all the sleep we can before the triplets come home, for then we'll forget what sleep is. Is there enough for a meal for the three of us and Ingrid this evening?"

"Yes, it looks so," Margareta said a little uncertainly. "I really don't know…"

"I'll look," Leslie said and made a check of her kitchen before turning to Christian. "I think we'll be fine. I'm actually not all that hungry right now—I just want to go back to sleep as long as I can."

Christian nodded and yawned again. "Same here. I may wake up long enough for supper this evening, but I need to catch up on what I missed last night."

Margareta nodded and followed Leslie out of the kitchen. "We can take the clothes up to the babies' rooms, and you can tell me what you named them."

Christian grinned, stacking one basket inside a second and lifting them both while Leslie and Margareta each took one of the other two. "Your new cousins are named Susanna Shannon, Karina Skye and Tobias Lukas Roarke, in the order they were born. It took us a while to come up with Tobias' name in particular, but the girls' names were reasonably easy to agree on. Oh, my Rose…" He had spotted something in Leslie's basket. "What's in that box? Do you see it there at the end of your basket?"

"Oh, yeah, I do," she said, surprised. "Well, let's see." In Christian and Leslie's bedroom they set down the baskets of baby clothes and Leslie extracted the box, sitting on the bed and opening it. She gasped. "Oh, Christian, look!"

"Those will be perfect for the babies' portrait with us," Christian said, impressed, lifting out a tiny dress. It was a cheerful pink in color and had just enough frills at the hem and on the bodice to make it feminine; there was a second one exactly like it.

"Karina and Susanna will look adorable in these," Leslie exclaimed, delighted. "And look, Tobias will be just as sweet in this." Their son's outfit was a small pale-blue cotton shirt and blue pinstriped overalls.

"There's a note," Christian said and extracted a small sheet of paper, which he unfolded and read aloud. _"Dear Christian and Leslie, these are for the triplets' first formal portrait with you, the one that will be posted on the royal family website. I hope you'll like them and want to use them for that! Love, Michiko."_

The baskets, they discovered, came from Jimmy and Camille, who had contributed a large number of outfits that had been worn by David, Craig and Robin; Kazuo and Katsumi, who'd turned over all of Chikako's baby clothes; Tabitha and Fernando, who'd given them Cristina's and Ramón's babywear; and Nick and Myeko, who had donated everything little Dawn had worn in her infancy (Myeko, in her note, apologized for having long since gotten rid of Alexander's and Noelle's baby clothing). Christian and Leslie laughed at that and then looked at each other wonderingly. "Well," Leslie said, "one thing's for sure—we should have no trouble telling Susanna and Karina apart if they're wearing different outfits. If any of these are identical, it'll be pure coincidence."

"Exactly so," Christian agreed with another laugh. "I had been wondering how we were going to keep the girls' identities straight. It's not as if we can tattoo their names on their foreheads, after all." He grinned when she rolled her eyes and laughed at him. "Well, thank you for your help, Magga…if you like, you can e-mail the family and let them know what the babies' names are. Leslie and I are going to sleep."

"Well enough," Margareta agreed. "Will you write down the names for me? I want to be sure I spell them right. _Herregud_, it's so hard to believe I have three new cousins. They won't seem like cousins at all, more like nieces and nephews."

"That's what Anna-Kristina said," Leslie remarked, turning over the note from Jimmy and Camille and writing the babies' names on the back. "I have a feeling Susanna and Karina at least will be close to your niece Natalia…you've met her, haven't you?"

"Actually, not yet," Margareta confessed. "I had hoped to do that before the triplets came home and kept us all tethered to the house caring for them."

"Go and do it while we're sleeping," Christian urged her. "If you need directions to their house, just call them. Ingrid can have a break from cleaning for a while—I think that girl deserves to have a nice long nap, or at least some time to call her own. Your sister would never forgive you if you didn't go and meet her daughter."

"I'm sure of that," Margareta said with a snort, and her aunt and uncle laughed. "All right, I'll do that. Sleep well, both of you." They waved at her as she left the room, then put aside the baskets of clothes to put away later, changed into nightwear, pulled the blinds over the French doors and the window, and crawled into bed with groans of relief.

For the first time in weeks, Leslie found herself lying in bed facing Christian. When Dr. Hannaford had told her to lie on her side a few months back, she had specified the left side, for reasons Leslie had never remembered to ask for. Neither she nor Christian had been too happy with that, since it meant she faced away from him. Now they gazed at each other from their respective pillows, smiling sleepily at each other. "Do you feel strange, no longer being pregnant?" he asked.

"I feel a lot lighter," she remarked, and he snickered appreciatively. "It does feel kind of funny not to be pregnant anymore, but it's nice too." She yawned, producing one in him, and slipped her hand into his. "See you whenever we wake up."

"Mmmmm," he murmured, hitching himself closer to her till he could wrap an arm over her and rest his head against hers. "That's far better. I love you, my Rose."

"I love you too, my darling," she said softly, and fell asleep listening to his quiet, even breathing.

‡ ‡ ‡

They woke after dark, feeling a little disoriented and groggy, and studied each other with drowsy smiles. "Feel better?" Leslie murmured.

"Much," Christian said and yawned yet again. "Are you hungry at all?"

Leslie thought about it and was surprised to realize she was. "Yes, actually, I'm just about starving. Maybe if we get enough energy back after supper, we could even go back to the hospital and see the triplets. I really hope they'll let us bring them home tomorrow."

Christian grinned at her. "You know something? I hope the same thing! Well, let's see how we're feeling when we've eaten."

Margareta met them in the kitchen and grinned. "I didn't think you'd wake up. Look what Ingrid's done…she's made salmon cakes with tropical salsa. Mr. Roarke's cook might become very jealous if she hears about this. I didn't know that girl could cook."

"Don't you even know what part of the castle she works in?" Christian asked, sitting at the table with Leslie. "Margareta, I think you've underestimated that girl. I can understand it when she's put up against all the rest of the staff, but I'd have thought when you chose her to accompany you here that you'd have taken inventory of what she could do." He grinned at Leslie. "Arnulf would have been thoroughly disappointed in her, I think."

Leslie laughed and took a bite of one of the two salmon cakes on her plate, scooping up some of the salsa that lay beneath it and getting a very tasty mouthful of seasoned, breaded fish along with the sweet, tangy flavors of pineapple and mango in the salsa. "This is fabulous," she exclaimed. "I love it. Try it, my love, it's incredible." She caught Ingrid's eye across the room, beamed and nodded vigorously at her, and got a shy, grateful smile before the servant turned quickly away.

Christian took a bite and smiled broadly around it. "You're right, this is excellent…and I'm particular about my salmon, since it's my favorite fish. My only complaint is that there aren't more of these. I think I'll see if she can put together individual salads for us, to help round out the meal." He made his request in _jordiska_, and Ingrid curtsied in acquiescence, going swiftly about filling the order.

Margareta cleared her throat just as the meal was ending. "Uncle Christian, Aunt Leslie, would it be all right if I come with you? I'd really like to see the babies."

"Sure, you'll be welcome," Leslie said, and Christian nodded, chuckling. He left a few instructions with Ingrid, then led his wife and his niece out to the car and drove to the hospital along streets that were still damp from an afternoon rainstorm. The medical staff welcomed the Enstads, congratulated Christian and Leslie on the triplets, and brought all three of them back to see the babies. They had been brought into the hospital nursery and were sharing space with only two other babies, both of whom had apparently been born earlier that day, according to the cards on their bassinets. The attending nurse brought them in, seated them and gave each a baby to hold. This time Christian found himself holding Karina while Leslie cradled Tobias and Margareta stared down at Susanna in her arms. The princess seemed very uncertain, gaping openmouthed at the sleeping infant.

"It's not an alien, it's a baby," Christian couldn't resist joshing her. "For heaven's sake, Magga, say hello to your cousin Susanna, and try to enjoy holding her. If you're going to be here all summer helping us, you'll have to get used to the feel and the sound and the mess of babies." He laughed hard enough at her dirty look to awaken Karina, who stared up at him as if in bewilderment.

Leslie giggled, gingerly lifting Tobias to her shoulder and rocking slowly back and forth. "Christian, my love, you have an audience."

Her husband peered down at his daughter and grinned. _"Hallå då, Karina lilla._ Do you remember me from last night, then, hmm? Yes, that's right, I'm your father. Are you feeling better, now that you have more room to move and you aren't bumping into Tobias and Susanna all the time, and kicking your poor mother to death?" Margareta stared at him in disbelief while Leslie chortled softly, cradling the back of Tobias' head.

"For fate's sake, Uncle Christian, who talks like that to a baby?" Margareta demanded in amazement.

"I do," Christian said easily, grinning. "Perhaps you will too, before very long. Truly, Magga, you astonish me. It's pretty clear you've spent little or no time helping to care for Lisi, or you might be more comfortable around the triplets. Be careful of Susanna, now…or would you rather Leslie held her? She can handle it, she has a good hold on Tobias."

"Might as well," Leslie remarked good-naturedly. "I'll have to get used to holding two at a time whenever I feed them anyway. Go ahead, Margareta, bring her over here if you want to, and put her here in my other arm." As she spoke, she shifted a stirring Tobias back into the crook of her right elbow. Margareta got up and awkwardly transferred Susanna into the lee of Leslie's left arm, then stepped back and smiled sheepishly.

"I should have remembered to bring my camera," she said a little wistfully. "Oh, I guess I'll get used to this over time. But they're so tiny, I'm afraid I'll break them."

Christian said with enormous amusement, "Believe me, Magga, babies aren't as fragile as they look. Not that you want to drop them, but they don't shatter like glass. Tell you what, suppose you go to the admissions desk and see if they'll let you use a phone to call Mr. Roarke. I don't know if he was able to come in and see the babies, or if they were willing to let him in; but if not, he'll have the chance while we're here." Margareta nodded agreement and left rather quickly, to the further amusement of Christian and Leslie, who then looked at each other and smiled with a new sense of wonder. "Amazing, that these three little scraps of life came about because of us," he observed, gazing at Karina again.

Leslie nodded and studied Tobias and Susanna at length, marveling over their little faces, miniature hands and downy hair. "They're miracles, all of them…more so because I honestly thought for so long that I couldn't have children." She blinked and smiled when both Susanna and Tobias opened their eyes and gazed up at her, in that expressionless way of newborns. "You guys will never know how happy you made Mommy, will you?"

Christian rose from his chair, straightened to his full height, looked over his three children and his wife, and smiled broadly. This was what he had once, so long ago, expected to have, gradually lost hope for, and finally given up on. Still holding Karina, he crouched in front of Leslie and returned the smile that she shifted from the babies to him. "One day they will," he promised gently. "I'll tell them so. And at the same time, I'll tell them how happy they—and especially you—have made me. Only a few years ago I thought I would never experience a moment like this. Now, thanks to you, I am. I'm certain there could be no greater love in the world than the love I feel for you."

"I felt the same way back then," Leslie said softly, "and I feel the same way now. You made it all possible for me. Thank you, Christian…"

He raised a teasing eyebrow and suggested, "Look at me a week from today and see if you're still as thankful, when we're dealing with crying and the coordination of feedings and the sleeplessness…and those inevitable soiled diapers."

"I'll be thankful enough," Leslie said with a smirk, "because you're going to be in this as deep as I am." They laughed softly, cuddled their triplets and gave some thought to the long summer ahead, of getting to know their children.

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_Next up: Christian and Leslie bring the triplets home and settle into a busy routine that leaves them oblivious to a young woman's loneliness and a teenager's misdirected crush…_


End file.
